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RIGHT GUARD GRANT 


THE FOOTBALL ELEVEN BOOKS 

BY 

Ralph Henry Barbour 

LEFT END EDWARDS 
LEFT TACKLE THAYER 
LEFT GUARD GILBERT 
CENTER RUSH ROWLAND 
FULL-BACK FOSTER 
QUARTER-BACK BATES 
LEFT HALF HARMON 
RIGHT END EMERSON 
RIGHT GUARD GRANT 






























Then it was that Leonard had his great moment 
















RIGHT GUARD GRANT 

» 


BY 

RALPH HENRY BARBOUR 

Author of “Left End Edwards,*’ “Full-Back Foster,’* 
“Right End Emerson,’’ etc. 


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY 

LESLIE CRUMP 




NEW YORE 

DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 

1923 



t 



Copyright, 1923, 

BY DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, INC. 



PRINTED IN THE U. S. A. BY 

TCJjt (Quin n & IBoben Company 

BOOK MANUFACTURERS 

RAHWAY NEW JERSEY 


SEP 20 *23 



CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

I 

Captain and Coach . 



PAGE 

1 

II 

Two in a Taxi .... 



12 

III 

Enter Mr. Eldred Chichester Staples 

25 

IV 

Leonard Gets Promotion 



35 

V 

The Boy on the Porch . 



49 

VI 

The Season Begins . 



61 

VII 

Just One of the Subs 



74 

VIII 

A Strange Resemblance . 



91 

IX 

Leonard Makes a Tackle 



102 

X 

The Second Team Comes Over 



111 

XI 

Alton Seeks Revenge 



122 

XII 

Victory Hard Won . 



137 

XIII 

An Evening Call 



147 

XIV 

Mr. Cade Makes An Entry 



159 

XV 

A Tip from McGrath 



171 

XVI 

First Trick to the Enemy . 



187 

XVII 

Slim Retreats .... 



198 

XVIII 

Leonard Comes to the Party . 



208 

XIX 

Not Eligible .... 



219 

XX 

Right Guard Grant . 



233 

XXI 

Renneker Explains . 



245 

XXII 

Before the Battle . 



260 

XXIII 

‘ 1 Fifty-Fifty \” .... 



276 










































ILLUSTRATIONS 


Then it was that Leonard had his great 
moment. Frontispiece 

PAGE 

There was another half-hour for each squad with 
the tackling dummies.62 

i 1 That wouldn’t be playing the game,’ ’ he answered 210 

On the same play he got one more .... 282 










RIGHT GUARD GRANT 


CHAPTER I 

CAPTAIN AND COACH 

Although the store had reopened for business 
only that morning several customers had already 
been in and out, and when the doorway was 
again darkened momentarily Russell Emerson 
looked up from his task of marking football 
trousers with merely perfunctory interest. Then, 
however, since the advancing figure, silhouetted 
flatly against the hot September sunlight of the 
wide-open door, looked familiar, he eased his 
long legs over the edge of the counter and strode 
to meet it. 

i ‘Hello, Cap!” greeted the visitor. The voice 
was unmistakable, and, now that the speaker had 
left the sunlight glare behind him, so too was the 
perspiring countenance. 

‘ ‘ Mr. Cade! ’* exclaimed Russell. ‘ ‘ Mighty glad 
to see you, sir. When did you get in?” 

Coach Cade lifted himself to the counter and 

fanned himself with a faded straw hat. “ About 

1 


2 


RIGHT GUARD GRANT 


two hours ago. Unpacked, had a bath and here 
I am. By jove, Emerson, but it’s hot!” 

“Is it?” 

“ ‘Is it?’ ” mimicked the other. “Don’t you 
know it is?” Then he laughed. “Guess I was a 
fool to get out of that bath tub, but I wanted to 
have a chat with you, and I’m due at Doctor 
McPherson’s this evening.” He stopped fanning 
his reddened face and tossed his hat atop a pile 
of brown canvas trousers beside him. “Johnny” 
Cade was short of stature, large-faced and broad 
in a compact way. In age he was still under 
thirty. He had a pleasantly mild voice that was 
at startling variance with his square, fighting 
chin, his sharp eyes and the mop of very black 
and bristle-like hair that always reminded Rus¬ 
sell of a shoe brush. The mild voice continued 
after a moment, while the sharp eyes roamed up 
and down the premises. “Got things fixed up 
here pretty nicely,” he observed commendingly. 
“Looks as businesslike as any sporting goods 
store I know. Branched out, too, haven’t you?” 
He nodded across to where three bicycles, brave 
in blue-and-tan and red-and-white enamel, leaned. 

“Yes,” answered Russell. “We thought we 
might try those. They’re just samples. ‘Stick’ 
hasn’t recovered from the shock of my daring 
yet.” Russell laughed softly. “Stick’s nothing 
if not conservative, you know.” 



3 


CAPTAIN AND COACH 

“ Stick? Oh, yes, that’s Patterson, your part¬ 
ner here.” Mr. Cade’s glance swept the spaces 
back of the counters. 

“He’s over at the express office trying to trace 
some goods that ought to have shown up three 
days ago,” explained Russell. “How have you 
been this summer, sir?” 

“Me? Oh, fine. Been working pretty hard, 
though.” The coach’s mind seemed not to be 
on his words, however, and he added: ‘ ‘ Say, that 
blue-and-yellow wheel over there is certainly a 
corker. We didn’t have them as fine as that 
when I was a kid.” He got down and walked 
across to examine the bicycle. Russell followed. 

“It is good-looking, isn’t it? Better let me sell 
you one of those, sir. Ought to come in mighty 
handy following the squads around the field!” 

Coach Cade grinned as he leaned the wheel 
back in its place with evident regret. “Gee, I 
suppose I’d break my silly neck if I tried to ride 
one of those things now. I haven’t been on one 
of them for ten years. Sort of wish I were that 
much younger, though, and could run around on 
that, Cap!” 

“You’d pick it up quickly enough,” said Rus¬ 
sell as he again perched himself on the counter. 
“Riding a bicycle’s like skating, Mr. Cade: it 
comes back to you.” 

“Yes, I dare say,” replied the other dryly. 


4 EIGHT GUARD GRANT 

“Much the same way, I guess. Last time I tried 
to skate I nearly killed myself. What are you 
trying to do? Get a new football coach here?” 

Russell laughed. “Nothing like that, sir. 
What we need isn’t a new coach, I guess, but a 
new team.” 

“H’m, yes, that’s pretty near so. I was look¬ 
ing over the list this morning on the train and, 
well—” He shrugged his broad shoulders. 
“Looks like building from the ground up, eh?” 

“Only three left who played against Kenly.” 

“Three or four. Still, we have got some good 
material in sight, Cap. I wouldn’t wonder if we 
had a team before the season’s over.” The 
coach’s eyes twinkled, and Russell smiled in re¬ 
sponse. He had a very nice smile, a smile that 
lighted the quiet brown eyes and deepened the 
two creases leading from the corners of a firm 
mouth to the sides of a short nose. Russell 
Emerson was eighteen, a senior at Alton Acad¬ 
emy this year and, as may have been surmised, 
captain of the football team. 

“Seen any of the crowd lately?” asked the 
coach. 

“No. I ran across ‘Slim’ once in August. He 
was on a sailboat trying to get up the Hudson; 
he and three other chaps. I don’t think they 
ever made it.” 

“Just loafing, I suppose,” sighed the coach. 


CAPTAIN AND COACH 5 

“I dare say not one of them has seen a football 
since spring practice ended.” 

“Well, I don’t believe Slim had one with him,” 
chuckled Russell. “I guess I ought to confess 
that I haven’t done very much practicing myself, 
sir. I was working most of the time. Dad has 
a store, and he rather looks to me to give him a 
hand in summer.” 

“You don’t need practice the way some of 
the others do,” said Mr. Cade. “Well, we’ll 
see. By the way, we’re getting that fellow Ren- 
neker, from Castle City High.” 

“Renneker? Gordon Renneker you mean?” 
asked Russell in surprise. 

Mr. Cade nodded. “That’s the fellow. A cork¬ 
ing good lineman, Cap. Made the Eastern All- 
Scholastic last year and the year before that. 
Played guard last season. If he’s half the papers 
say he is he ought to fill in mighty well in Stim- 
son’s place.” 

“How did we happen to get him?” asked Rus¬ 
sell interestedly. 

“Oh, it’s all straight, if that’s what you’re 
hinting at,” was the answer. “You know I don’t 
like ‘jumpers.’ They’re too plaguy hard to 
handle, generally. Besides, there’s the ethics of 
the thing. No, we’re getting Renneker honestly. 
Seems that he and Cravath are acquainted, and 
Cravath went after him. Landed him, too, it 




6 EIGHT GUAED GEANT 

seems. Cravath wrote me in July that Eenneker 
would be along this fall, and just to make sure I 
dropped a line to Wharton, and Wharton wrote 
back that Eenneker had registered. So I guess 
it’s certain enough.’’ 

“Well, that’s great,” said Eussell. “I re¬ 
member reading about Gordon Eenneker lots of 
times. If we have him on one side of Jim New¬ 
ton and Smedley on the other, sir, we’ll have a 
pretty good center trio for a start.” 

“Newton? Well, yes, perhaps. There’s Gar¬ 
rick, too, you know, Cap.” 

“Of course, but I thought Jim—” 

“He looks good, but I never like to place them 
until I’ve seen them work, Emerson. Place 
them seriously I mean. Of course, you have to 
make up a team on paper just to amuse yourself. 
Here’s one I set down this morning. I’ll bet you, 
though, that there won’t be half of them where 
I’ve got them now when the season’s three weeks 
old!” 

Eussell took the list and read it: “Gurley, 
Butler, Smedley, Garrick, Eenneker, Wilde, 
Emerson, Carpenter, Goodwin, Kendall, Green¬ 
wood.” He smiled. “I see you’ve got me down, 
sir. You’re dead wrong in two places, though.” 

“Only two? Which two? Oh, yes, center. 
What other?” 

“Well, I like ‘Eed’ Eeilly instead of, say, 


CAPTAIN AND COACH 7 

Kendall. And I’ll bet you ’ll see Slim playing one 
end or the other before long.” 

Mr. Cade accepted the paper and tucked it 
away in a pocket again. “Well, I said this was 
just for amusement,” he observed, untroubled. 
“ There may be some good material coming in 
that we haven’t heard of, too. You never know 
where you’ll find a prize. Were any of last 
year’s freshmen promising?” 

“I don’t know, sir. I didn’t see much of the 
youngsters.” 

“Seen Tenney yet?” 

“Yes, he blew in this morning. He’s going to 
make a good manager, I think.” 

“Hope so. Did he say anything about the 
schedule ? ’ 9 

“Yes, he said it was all fixed. Hillsport came 
around all right. I don’t see what their kick was, 
anyway.” 

“Wanted a later date because they held us to 
a tie last season,” said the coach, smiling. 

“Gee, any one could have tied us about the 
time we played Hillsport! That was during that 
grand and glorious slump.” 

“Grand and glorious indeed!” murmured the 
coach. “Let’s hope there’ll never be another 
half so grand! Well, I’ll get along, I guess. By 
the way—” Mr. Cade hesitated. Then: “I hope 
this store isn’t going to interfere too much with 




8 EIGHT GTJAED GRANT 

football, Emerson. Mustn’t let it, eh? Good 
captains are scarce, son, and I’d hate to see one 
spoiled by—er—outside interests, so to speak. 
Don’t mind my mentioning it, do you?” 

“Not a mite, sir. You needn’t worry. I’m 
putting things in shape here so that Stick can 
take the whole thing on his own shoulders. I m 
not going to have anything to do with this shop 

until we’ve licked Kenly Hall.” 

< < Good stuff! See you to-morrow, then. Prac¬ 
tice at three, Cap, no matter what the weather’s 
like. I guess a lot of those summer loafers will 
be the better for losing five or six pounds of fat 1 
And about this Eenneker, Cap. If you run 
across him it might be a good idea to sort of make 
yourself acquainted and—er—look after him a 
bit. You know what I mean. Start him off with 
a good impression of us, and all that.” 

Russell chuckled. “It’s a great thing to bring 
a reputation with you, isn’t it?” he asked. 

“Eh?” The coach smiled a trifle sheepishly. 
“Oh, well, I don’t care what you do with him,” 
he declared. “Chuck him down the well if you 
like. No reason why we should toady to him, 
and that’s a fact. I only thought that—” 

“Right-o!” laughed Russell. “Leave him to 
me, sir. Can’t sell you a bicycle then?” 

“Huh,” answered Mr. Cade, moving toward 
the door, ‘ ‘ if you supply the team with its outfits 




CAPTAIN AND COACH 


9 


and stuff this fall I guess you won’t need to sell 
me a bicycle to show a profit! See you to¬ 
morrow, Cap!” 

In front of the store, under the gayly-hued 
escutcheon bearing the legend: Sign of the Foot¬ 
ball, Mr. Cade paused to shake hands with a tall, 
thin youth with curly brown hair above gray eyes, 
a rather large nose and a broad mouth who, sub¬ 
sequent to the football coach’s departure, entered 
the store hurriedly, announcing as he did so: 
“They can’t find it, Russ! The blamed thing’s 
just plain vanished. What’ll we do? Telegraph 
or what?” 

“I’ll write them a letter,” replied Russell 
calmly. “I dare say the stuff will show up 
to-morrow.” 

“Sure,” agreed Stick Patterson sarcastically. 
“It’s been turning up to-morrow for three days 
and it might as well go on turning— What was 
Johnny after?” 

“Just wanted to talk over a few things. Give 
me a hand with this truck, will you? I want to 
get in an hour’s practice before supper. Bring 
some more tags along. Where’s the invoice? 
Can you see it?” 

“Yes, and so could you if you weren’t sitting 
on it. My, but it’s hot over in that office! I sup¬ 
pose Johnny wasn’t awfully enthused over the 
outlook, eh?” 





10 


RIGHT GUARD GRANT 


“No-o, but be brought some good news, Stick. 
Ever bear of Gordon Renneker?” 

“No, who’s he?” 

“He’s a gentleman who played football last 
year down on Long Island with the Castle City 
High School team. Won everything in sight, I 
think. ’ ’ 

“Who did? Runniger?” 

“The team did. Renneker played guard; right 
guard, I guess; and got himself talked about like 
a moving picture hero. Some player, they say. 
Anyway, he’s coming here this fall.” 

“Oh, joy! I’ll bet you anything you like he’ll 
turn out a lemon, like that chap Means, or what¬ 
ever his name was, two years ago. Remember? 
The school got all het up about him. He was the 
finest thing that ever happened—until he’d been 
around here a couple of weeks. After that no one 
ever heard of him. He didn’t even hold a job 
with the second!” 

“I guess Renneker’s in a different class,” re¬ 
sponded Russell. “They put him down on the 
* All-Scholastic last fall, anyway, Stick.” 

“All right. Hope he turns out big. But I 
never saw one of these stars yet that didn’t have 
something wrong with him. If he really could 
play, why, he was feeble-minded. Or if he had 
all his brains working smooth he had something 
else wrong with him. No stars in mine, thanks! 


CAPTAIN AND COACH 11 

Shove the ink over here. How about dressing the 
windows? Want me to do it?” 

“Sure. Want you to do everything there is to 
be done, beginning with twelve o’clock midnight 
to-night. That’s the last. Pile them up and let’s 
get out of here. It’s after five. If you’ll come 
over to the field with me for an hour I’ll buy your 
supper, Stick. And the exercise will do you 
good!” 






CHAPTER n 


TWO IN A TAXI 

Something over eighteen hours later the morn¬ 
ing train from New York pulled up at Alton sta¬ 
tion and disgorged a tumultuous throng of youths 
of all sizes and of all ages between twelve and 
twenty. They piled down from the day coaches 
and descended more dignifiedly from the two par¬ 
lor cars to form a jostling, noisy mob along the 
narrow platform. Suit-cases, kit-bags, valises, 
tennis rackets, golf clubs were everywhere un¬ 
derfoot. Ahead, from the baggage car, trunks 
crashed or thudded to the trucks while an impa¬ 
tient conductor glanced frowningly at his watch. 
Behind the station the brazen clanging of the 
gongs on the two special trolley cars punctuated 
the babel, while the drivers of taxicabs and horse- 
drawn vehicles beckoned invitingly for trade and 
added their voices to the general pandemonium. 
Then, even as the train drew on again, the tumult 
lessened and the throng melted. Some few of 
the arrivals set forth afoot along Meadow street, 
having entrusted their hand luggage to friends 
traveling by vehicle. A great many more stormed 

the yellow trolley cars, greeting the grinning 

12 



TWO IN A TAXI 


13 


crews familiarly as Bill or Mike, crowding* 
through the narrow doors and battling good- 
naturedly for seats. The rest, less than a score 
of them, patronized the cabs and carriages. 

Leonard Grant was of the latter. As this was 
his first sight of Alton he decided that it would 
be wise to place the responsibility of delivering 
himself and a bulging suit-case to Alton Academy 
on the shoulders of one who knew where the 
Academy was, even if it was to cost a whole half- 
dollar! The taxi was small but capable of ac¬ 
commodating four passengers at least, and when 
Leonard had settled himself therein it became 
evident that the driver of the vehicle had no in¬ 
tention of leaving until the accommodations were 
more nearly exhausted. He still gesticulated and 
shouted, while Leonard, his suit-case up-ended 
between his knees, looked curiously about and 
tried to reconcile the sun-smitten view of cheap 
shops and glaring yellow brick pavement with 
what he had learned of Alton from the Academy 
catalogue. Judging solely from what he now saw, 
he would have concluded that the principal in¬ 
dustries of the town were pressing clothes and 
supplying cheap meals. He was growing sensible 
of disappointment when a big kit-bag was thrust 
against his knees and a second passenger fol¬ 
lowed it into the cab. 

i ‘ Mind if I share this with you ? 9 9 asked the new 




14 EIGHT GTJABD GRANT 

arrival. He had a pleasant voice, and the inquiry 
was delivered in tones of the most perfect polite¬ 
ness, hut something told Leonard that the big 
fellow who was making the cushion springs creak 
protestingly really cared not a whit whether 
Leonard minded or not. Leonard as courteously 
replied in the negative, and in doing so he had his 
first glimpse of his companion. He was amaz¬ 
ingly good-looking; perhaps fine-looking would 
be the better term, for it was not only that his 
features were as regular as those on a Greek 
coin, but they were strong, and the smooth 
tanned skin almost flamboyantly proclaimed per¬ 
fect health. In fact, health and physical strength 
fairly radiated from the chap. He was tall, 
wide-shouldered, deep-chested, and yet, in spite 
of his size, which made Leonard feel rather like 
a pygmy beside him, you were certain that there 
wasn’t an ounce of soft flesh anywhere about him. 
He had dark eyes and, although Leonard couldn’t 
see it just then, dark hair very carefully brushed 
down against a well-shaped head. He was dressed 
expensively but in excellent taste: rough brown¬ 
ish-gray tweed, a linen-colored silk shirt with 
collar to match, a plain brown bow-tie, a soft 
straw hat, brown sport shoes and brown silk 
socks. The watch on his wrist was plainly ex¬ 
pensive, as were the gold-and-enamel links in 
his soft cuffs. What interested Leonard Grant 


TWO IN A TAXI 


15 


more than these details of attire, however, was 
the sudden conviction that he knew perfectly well 
who his companion was—if only he could re¬ 
member ! 

Meanwhile, evidently despairing of another 
fare, the driver climbed to his seat and set forth 
with loud grinding of frayed gears, cleverly 
manipulating the rattling cab around the end of 
the nearer trolley car and dodging a lumbering 
blue ice-wagon by a scant four inches. Then the 
cab settled down on the smooth pavement and 
flew, honking, along Meadow street. 

“Are you an Alton fellow?” inquired Leon¬ 
ard’s companion as they emerged from the. jam. 
He spoke rather slowly, rather lazily, enunciating, 
each word very clearly. Leonard couldn’t have 
told why he disliked that precision of speech, but 
he did somehow. 

“Yes,” he answered. “And I suppose you 
are.” 

The other nodded. There was nothing really 
supercilious about that nod; it merely seemed to 
signify that in the big chap’s judgment the ques¬ 
tion was not worthy a verbal reply. As he nod¬ 
ded he let his gaze travel over Leonard and then 
to the scuffed and discolored and generally dis¬ 
reputable suit-case, a suit-case that, unlike the 
kit-bag nearby, was not distinguished by bravely 
colored labels of travel. The inspection was 


16 RIGHT GUARD GRANT 

brief, but it was thorough, and when it had ended 
Leonard knew perfectly that no detail of his ap¬ 
pearance had been missed. He became uncom¬ 
fortably conscious of his neat but well-worn Nor¬ 
folk suit, his very unattractive cotton shirt, his 
second-season felt hat, his much-creased blue 
four-in-hand tie, which didn’t match anything else 
he had on, and his battered shoes whose real con¬ 
dition the ten-cent shine he had acquired in the 
New York station couldn’t disguise. It was evi¬ 
dent to him that, with the inspection, his com¬ 
panion’s interest in him had died a swift death. 
The big, outrageously good-looking youth turned 
his head toward the lowered window of the 
speeding cab and not again did he seem aware 
of Leonard’s presence beside him. 

Leonard didn’t feel any resentment. The big 
fellow was a bit of a swell, and he wasn’t. That 
was all there was to it. Nothing to be peeved at. 
Doubtless there’d be others of the same sort at 
the Academy, and Leonard neither expected to 
train with them or wanted to. What did bother 
him, though, was the persistent conviction that 
somewhere or other he had seen the big chap 
before, and all the way along Meadow street he 
stole surreptitious glances at the noble profile 
and racked his mind. So deep was he in this 
occupation that he saw little of the town; which 
was rather a pity, since it had become far more 


WO IN A TAXI 


17 


like his preconceived conception of it now; and 
the cab had entered the Meadow street gate of 
the Academy grounds and was passing the first 
of the buildings before he was aware that he had 
reached his destination. He would have been 
more interested in that first building had he 
known that it was Haylow Hall and that he was 
destined to occupy a certain room therein whose 
ivy-framed window stared down on him as he 
passed. 

The driver, following custom, pulled up with 
disconcerting suddenness at the entrance of Acad¬ 
emy Building, swung off his seat, threw open the 
door on Leonard’s side and wrested the battered 
suit-case from between the latter’s legs. Then 
he as swiftly transferred Leonard’s half-dollar 
from the boy’s fingers to his pocket and grabbed 
for the distinguished kit-bag beyond. Leonard, 
unceremoniously thrust into a noonday world 
dappled with the shadows of lazily swaying 
branches and quite unfamiliar, took up his bag 
and instinctively ascended the steps. There were 
other youths about him, coming down, going up 
or just loitering, but none heeded him. Before 
he reached the wide, open doorway he paused 
and looked back. Straight away and at a slight 
descent traveled a wide graveled path between 
spreading trees, its far end a hot blur of sunlight. 
At either side of the main path stretched green 






18 EIGHT GUARD GRANT 

sward, tree dotted, to the southern and northern 
boundaries of the campus. Here and there a 
group of early arrivals were seated or stretched 
in the shade of the trees, coolly colorful blots 
against the dark green of the shadowed turf. 
; Two other paths started off below him, diverging, 
one toward a handsome building which Leonard 
surmised to be Memorial Hall, holding the library 
and auditorium, the other toward the residence 
of the Principal, Doctor Maitland McPherson, or, 
in school language, “Mac.” Each of these struc¬ 
tures stood close to the confines of the campus; 
the other buildings were stretched right and left, 
toeing the transverse drive with military preci¬ 
sion; Haylow and Lykes, dormitories, on the 
south flank; Academy Building in the center: 
Upton and Borden, dormitories, too, completing 
the rank. Somewhere to the rear, as Leonard 
recalled, must be the gymnasium and the place 
where they fed you; Lawrence Hall, wasn’t it? 
Well, this looked much more like what he had 
expected, and he certainly approved of it. 

He went on into the restful gloom of the cor¬ 
ridor, his eyes for the moment unequal to the 
sudden change. Then he found the Office and 
took his place in the line before the counter. He 
had to wait while three others were disposed of, 
and then, just as his own turn came, he heard at 
the doorway the pleasant, leisurely voice of his 


TWO IN A TAXI 


19 


late companion in the cab. There was another 
boy with him, a tall, nice-appearing chap, who 
was saying as they entered: “You’re in Upton, 
with a fellow named Reilly, who plays half for 
ns. It’s a good room, Renneker, and you’ll like 
Red, I’m sure.” 

“Thanks.” The other’s voice was noncom¬ 
mittal. 

Leonard, moving past the desk, turned swiftly 
and stared with surprise and incredulity. He 
remembered now. Last November he had gone 
up to Philadelphia to see a post-season football 
game between a local team and an eleven from 
Castle City, Long Island. The visitors had won 
by the margin of one point after a slow and gruel¬ 
ling contest. Leonard’s seat had been close to 
the visiting team’s bench and a neighbor had 
pointed out to him the redoubtable Renneker 
and told him tales of the big fellow’s prowess. 
Leonard had had several good looks at the Castle 
City star and had admired him, just as, later, he 
had admired his playing. Renneker had proved 
all that report had pictured him: a veritable 
stone wall in defense, a battering ram in attack. 
He had worn down two opponents, Leonard re¬ 
called, and only the final whistle had saved a third 
from a like fate. As Leonard had played the 
guard position himself that fall on his own high 
school team he watched Renneker’s skill and 



20 EIGHT GUARD GRANT 

science the more interestedly. And so this was 
Renneker! Yes, he remembered now, although in 
Philadelphia that day the famous player had been 
in togs and had worn a helmet. It is always a 
satisfaction to finally get the better of an obsti¬ 
nate memory, and for the first moment or two 
succeeding his victory Leonard was so immersed 
in that satisfaction that he failed to consider 
what the arrival of Gordon Renneker at Alton 
Academy would mean to his own football pros¬ 
pects. When he did give thought to that subject 
his spirits fell, and, rescuing his suit-case, he 
went out in search of Number 12 Haylow Hall 
with a rueful frown on his forehead. 

Leonard was only seventeen, with little more 
than the size and weight belonging to the boy of 
that age, and he had told himself all along that it 
was very unlikely he would be able to make the 
Alton team that fall. But now he realized that, 
in spite of what he had professed to believe, he 
had really more than half expected to win a place 
on the eleven this season. After all, he had done 
some pretty good work last year, and the high 
school coach back in Loring Point had more than 
once assured him that by this fall he ought to be 
able to pit himself against many a lineman older 
and heavier. “Get another twenty pounds on 
you, Len,” Tim Walsh had said once, “and 


TWO IN A TAXI 21 

there’s not many that’ll be able to stand up to 
you in the line. I’ll give you two years more, 
son, and then I’ll be lookin’ for your name in the 
papers. There’s lots of fellows playing guard 
that has plenty below the neck, but you’ve got it 
above, too, see? Beef and muscle alone didn’t 
ever win a battle. It was brains as did it. Brains 
and fight. And you’ve got both, I’ll say that for 
you!” 

And then, just a week ago, when Leonard had 
gone to bid Tim good-by, the little coach had 
said: “I’m sorry to lose you, Len, but you’ll be 
getting a bigger chance where you’re going. 
Sure. And you’ll be getting better handlin’, too. 
Take those big schools, why, they got trainers 
that knows their business, Len, and you’ll be 
looked after close and careful. Here a fellow has 
to do his own trainin’, which means he don’t do 
none, in spite of all I say to him. Sure. You’ll 
do fine, son. Well, so long. Don’t put your name 
to nothin’ without you read it first. And don’t 
forget what I been tellin’ you, Len: get ’em be¬ 
fore they get you! ’ ’ 

Well, he hadn’t put on that twenty pounds yet, 
for in spite of all his efforts during the summer 
—he had gone up to his uncle’s farm and worked 
in the field and lived on the sort of food that is 
supposed to build bone and tissue—he was only 


22 EIGHT GUARD GRANT 

seven pounds heavier than when he had weighed 
himself a year ago. And now here was this fellow 
Renneker to further dim his chances. Leonard 
sighed as he turned in at the doorway of the dor¬ 
mitory building. If there were eleven guards on 
a football team he might stand a show, he thought 
disconsolately, but there were only two, and one 
of the two would be Gordon Renneker! He won¬ 
dered what his chance with the scrubs would be! 

He tugged his heavy suit-case up one flight of 
stairs in Haylow and looked for a door bearing 
the numerals 12. He found it presently, cheered 
somewhat to observe that it was toward the 
campus side of the building. It was closed, and 
a card thumb-tacked to the center bore the 
inscription, “Mr. Eldred Chichester Staples.” 
Leonard read the name a second time. That 
“Chichester” annoyed him. To have a room¬ 
mate named Eldred might be borne, but “Chi¬ 
chester”— He shook his head gloomily as he 
turned the knob and pushed the door open. It 
seemed to him that life at Alton Academy wasn’t 
starting out very well for him. 

He was a bit relieved to find the room empty, 
although it was evident enough that Eldred Chi¬ 
chester Staples had already taken possession. 
There were brushes and toilet articles atop one 
of the two slim chiffoniers, books on the study 
table, photographs tacked to the wainscoting, a 


23 


TWO IN A TAXI 

black bag reposing on a cbair by the bead of the 
left-band bed, a pair of yellow silk pajamas exud¬ 
ing from it. Leonard set bis own bag down and 
walked to tbe windows. There were two of them, 
set close together, and they looked out into tbe 
lower branches of a maple. Directly below was 
tbe brick foot-path and the gravel road—and, 
momentarily, the top of an automobile retreating 
toward the Meadow street gate. Some fortunate 
youth had probably arrived in the family touring 
car. Leonard had to set one knee on a comfort¬ 
ably broad window-seat to get the view, and when 
he turned away his knee swept something from 
the cushion to the floor. Eescuing it, he saw that 
it was a block of paper, the top sheet bearing 
writing done with a very soft pencil. With no 
intention of doing so, he read the first words: 
“Lines on Eeturning to My Alma Mater .’ 9 He 
sniffed. So that was the sort this fellow Chi¬ 
chester was! Wrote poetry! Gosh! He tossed 
the tablet back to the window-seat. Then the 
desire to know how bad the effort might be 
prompted him to pick it up and, with a guilty 
glance toward the door, read further. There were 
many erasures and corrections, but he made out: 

“Oh, classic shades that through the pleasant years 
Have sheltered me from gloomy storm and stress, 

See on my pallid cheeks the happy tears 
That tell a tale of banished loneliness.” 


24 


RIGHT GUARD GRANT 


“What sickening rot!” muttered Leonard. But 
he went on. 

“Back to your tender arms! My tired feet 
Stand once again where they so safely stood. 
Could I want fairer haven, fate more sweet! 
Could I? Oh, boy, I’ll say I could!” 

Leonard re-read the last line doubtfully. Then 
he pitched the effusion violently back to the 
cushion. 

“Huh!” he said. 


CHAPTER in 


ENTER MR. ELDRED CHICHESTER STAPLES 

Eldred Chichester Staples had not arrived by 
the time Leonard had unpacked his bag. His 
trunk, which was to have joined him inside an 
hour, according to the disciple of Ananias who 
had accepted his claim check, had not appeared, 
and, since it was dinner time now, Leonard 
washed, re-tied his scarf, used a whisk brush 
rather perfunctorily and descended the stairs in 
search of food. It wasn’t hard to find Lawrence 
Hall. All he had to do was follow the crowd, and, 
although the entire assemblage of some four hun¬ 
dred students was not by any means yet present, 
there were enough on hand to make a very good 
imitation of a crowd. Leonard endured some 
waiting before he was assigned a seat, but pres¬ 
ently he was established at a table occupied by 
five others—there were seats for four more, but 
they weren’t claimed until supper time—and was 
soon enjoying his first repast at Alton. The food 
was good and there was plenty of it, but none 
too much for the new boy, for his breakfast, par¬ 
taken of at home before starting the first leg of 
his journey to New York City, was scarcely a 

25 


26 EIGHT GUAED GRANT 

memory. He followed the example of his right- 
hand neighbor and ordered “seconds” of the 
substantial articles of the menu and did excel¬ 
lently. Towards dessert he found leisure to look 
about him. 

Lawrence Hall was big and airy and light, and 
although it accommodated more than twenty 
score, including the faculty, the tables were not 
crowded together and there was an agreeable 
aspect of space. The fellows about him appeared 
to be quite the usual, normal sort; although later 
on Leonard made the discovery that there was a 
certain sameness about them, somewhat as though 
they had been cut off the same piece of goods. 
This sameness was rather intangible, however; 
he never succeeded in determining whether it was 
a matter of looks, manner or voice; and I doubt 
if any one else could have determined. Dinner 
was an orderly if not a silent affair. There was 
an ever-continuing rattle of dishes beneath the 
constant hum of voices and the ripples of laugh¬ 
ter. Once a dish fell just beyond the screen 
that hid the doors to the kitchen, and its crash 
was hailed with loud hand-clapping from every 
quarter. After awhile the scraping of chairs 
added a new note to the pleasant babel, and, con¬ 
tributing his own scrape, Leonard took his de¬ 
parture. 

He had seen a notice in the corridor of Academy 


, MR. ELDRED CHICHESTER STAPLES 27 

Building announcing the first football practice 
for three o’clock, and he meant to be on hand, but 
more than an hour intervened and he wondered 
how to spend it. The question was solved for 
him when he reached the walk that led along the 
front of the dormitories, for there, before the 
entrance of Haylow, a piled motor truck was dis¬ 
gorging trunks. His own proved to be among 
them, and he followed it upstairs and set to work. 
It wasn’t a very large trunk, nor a very nobby 
one, having served his father for many years 
before falling to Leonard, and he was quite sat¬ 
isfied that his room-mate continued to absent 
himself. He emptied it of his none too generous 
wardrobe, hung his clothes in his closet or laid 
them in the drawers of his chiffonier, arranged 
his small belongings before the mirror or on the 
table and finally, taking counsel of a strange 
youth hurrying past in the corridor, lugged the 
empty trunk to the store-room in the basement. 
Then, it now being well past the half-hour, he 
changed into an ancient suit of canvas, pulled 
on a pair of scuffed shoes and set forth for the 
field. 

The hot weather still held, and, passing the 
gravel tennis courts, a wave of heat, reflected 
from the surface, made him gasp. The gridiron, 
when he reached it, proved to have suffered in 
many places from the fortnight of unseasonable 


28 RIGHT GUARD GRANT 

weather and lack of rain. Half a dozen fellows, 
dressed for play, were laughingly squabbling for 
a ball near the center of the field, and their cleats, 
digging into the dry sod, sent up a cloud of yellow 
dust. Early as he was, Leonard found at least 
a score of candidates ahead of him. Many of 
them had, perhaps wisely, scorned the full regalia 
of football and had donned old flannel trousers in 
lieu of padded canvas. A perspiring youth with 
a very large board clip was writing busily in the 
scant shade of the covered stand, and a short, 
broadly-built man in trousers and a white run¬ 
ning shirt, from which a pair of bronze shoulders 
emerged massively, was beside him. The latter 
was, Leonard concluded, the coach. He looked 
formidable, with that large countenance topped 
by an alarming growth of black hair, and Leonard 
recalled diverse tales he had heard or read of the 
sternness and even ferocity of professional foot¬ 
ball coaches. Evidently football at Alton Acad¬ 
emy was going to prove more of a business than 
football at Loring Point High School! 

This reflection was interrupted by a voice. A 
large youth with rather pale blue eyes that, never¬ 
theless, had a remarkable sparkle in them had 
come to a stop at Leonard’s elbow. “I’ve accu¬ 
mulated seventeen pounds this summer,” the 
chap was saying, “and it cost the dad a lot of 
good money. And now—” his blue eyes turned 


MR. ELDRED CHICHESTER STAPLES 29 

from Leonard and fell disapprovingly on the 
sun-smitten gridiron—“now I’m going to lose the 
whole blamed lot in about sixty minutes.” He 
looked to Leonard again for sympathy. Leonard 
smiled doubtfully. It was difficult to tell whether 
the stranger spoke in fun or earnest. 

“If it comes off as easy as that,” he replied, 
“I guess you don’t want it.” Looking more 
closely at the chap, he saw that, deprived of those 
seventeen pounds, he would probably be rather 
rangy; large still, but not heavy. Leonard judged 
that he was a backfield candidate; possibly a run¬ 
ning half; he looked to be fast. 

“I suppose not,” the fellow agreed in doubtful 
tones. “Maybe it isn’t losing the weight that 
worries me so much as losing it so quick. You 
know they say that losing a lot of weight sud¬ 
denly is dangerous. Suppose it left me in an 
enfeebled condition!” 

Now Leonard knew that the chap was joking, 
and he ventured a laugh. “Maybe you’d better 
not risk it,” he said. “Why not wait until to¬ 
morrow. It might be cooler then.” 

“I would,” replied the other gravely, “only 
Johnny rather leans on me, you know. I dare 
say he’d be altogether at a loss if I deserted him 
to-day. Getting things started is always a bit 
of a trial.” 

“I see. I suppose Johnny is the coach, and 


30 EIGHT GUAED GEANT 

that’s him up there.” Leonard nodded in the 
direction of the black-haired man on the stand. 

“Him or he,” answered the other gently. 
“You’re a new fellow, I take it. Fresh?” 

Leonard, nettled by the correction, answered a 
bit stiffly, “Sophomore.” 

The tall youth gravely extended a hand. “Wel¬ 
come,” he said. “Welcome to the finest class in 
the school.” 

Leonard shook hands, his slight resentment 
vanishing. “I suppose that means that you’re a 
soph, too.” 

The fellow nodded. “So far,” he assented. 
Then he smiled for the first time, and after that 
smile Leonard liked him suddenly and thor¬ 
oughly. “If you ask me that again after mid¬ 
year,” he continued, “you may get a different 
answer. Well, I guess I’d better go up and get 
Johnny started. He’s evidently anxious about 
me.” He nodded once more and moved past 
Leonard and through the gate to the stand. 
Leonard had not noticed any sign of anxiety on 
the coach’s countenance, but it wasn’t to be de¬ 
nied that the greeting between the two was 
hearty. Leonard’s new acquaintance seated him¬ 
self at the coach’s side and draped his long legs 
luxuriously over the back of the seat in front. 
The youth with the clip looked up from his writ¬ 
ing and said something and the others threw their 


MR. ELDRED CHICHESTER STAPLES 31 

heads back and laughed. Leonard was positively 
relieved to discover that the coach could laugh 
like that. He couldn’t be so very ferocious, after 
all! 

The trainer appeared, followed by a man trund¬ 
ling a wheelbarrow laden with paraphernalia. 
The throng of candidates increased momentarily 
along the side-line and a few hardy youths, carry¬ 
ing coats over arms, perched themselves on the 
seats to look on. Leonard again turned to ob¬ 
serve the coach and found that gentleman on his 
feet and extending his hand to a big chap in un¬ 
stained togs. The two shook hands, and then the 
big fellow turned his head to look across the field, 
and Leonard saw that he was Gordon Renneker. 
A fifth member had joined the group, and him 
Leonard recognized as the boy who had accom¬ 
panied Renneker into the office. Leonard sur¬ 
mised now that he was the captain: he had read 
the chap’s name but had forgotten it. After a 
moment of conversation, during which the other 
members of the group up there seemed to be 
giving flattering attention to Renneker’s portion, 
the five moved toward the field, and a minute 
later the business of building a football team had 
begun. 

Coach Cade made a few remarks, doubtless not 
very different from those he had made at this time 
of year on many former occasions, was answered 


32 EIGHT GUAED GEANT 

with approving applause and some laughter and 
waved a brown hand. The group of some seventy 
candidates dissolved, footballs trickled away from 
the wheelbarrow and work began. Leonard made 
one of a circle of fifteen or sixteen other novices 
who passed a ball from hand to hand and felt the 
sun scorching earnestly at the back of his neck. 
Later, in charge of a heavy youth whose name 
Leonard afterwards learned was Garrick, the 
group was conducted further down the field and 
was permitted to do other tricks with the ball— 
two balls, to be exact. They caught it on the 
bound, fell on it and snuggled it to their perspir¬ 
ing bodies and then again, while they recovered 
somewhat of their breath, passed it from one to 
another. In other portions of the field similar 
exercises were going on with other actors in the 
parts, while, down near the further goal balls 
were traversing the gridiron, propelled by hand 
or toe. Garrick was a lenient task-master, and 
breathing spells were frequent, and yet, even so, 
there were many in Leonard’s squad who were 
just about spent when they were released to totter 
back to the benches and rinse their parched 
mouths with warm water from the carboy which, 
having been carefully deposited an hour ago in 
the shade of the wheelbarrow, was now enjoying 
the full blaze of the westing sun. Leonard, his 


MR. ELDRED CHICHESTER STAPLES 33 

canvas garments wet with perspiration, his legs 
aching, leaned against the back of the bench and 
wondered why he wanted to play football! 

Presently he forgot his discomforts in watching 
the performance of a squad of fellows who were 
trotting through a signal drill. Last year’s regu¬ 
lars these, he supposed; big, heavy chaps, most 
of them; fellows whose average age was possibly 
eighteen, or perhaps more. The quarterback, un¬ 
like most of the quarters Leonard had had ac¬ 
quaintance with, was a rather large and weighty 
youth with light hair and a longish face. His 
name, explained Leonard’s left-hand neighbor on 
the bench, was Carpenter. He had played on the 
second team last year and was very likely to 
prove first-choice man this fall. He was, the in¬ 
formant added admiringly, a corking punter. 
Leonard nodded. Secretly he considered Mr. 
Carpenter much too heavy for a quarterback’s 
job. The day’s diversions ended with a slow jog 
around the edge of the gridiron. Then came 
showers and a leisurely dressing; only Leonard, 
since his street clothes were over in Number 12 
Haylow, had his shower in the dormitory and was 
wearily clothing himself in clean underwear and 
a fresh shirt when the door of the room was un¬ 
ceremoniously opened and he found himself 
confronted by a youth whose countenance was 


34 RIGHT GUARD GRANT 

strangely familiar and whom, his reason told him, 
was Eldred Chichester Staples, his poetic room¬ 
mate. Considering it later, Leonard wondered 
why he had not been more surprised when recog¬ 
nition came. All he said was: “Well, did you get 
rid of the whole seventeen V 9 


CHAPTER IV 


LEONARD GETS PROMOTION 

Eldred Chichester Staples appeared to be no 
more surprised than Leonard. He closed the 
door, with the deftness born of long practice, 
with his left foot, sailed his cap to his bed and 
nodded, thrusting hands into the pockets of his 
knickers. 

“The whole seventeen,” he answered deject¬ 
edly. “Couldn’t you tell it by a glance at my 
emaciated frame?” 

Leonard shook his head. “You look to me just 
hungry,” he said. 

“Slim” Staples chuckled and reposed himself 
in a chair, thrusting his long legs forward and 
clasping lean, brown hands across his equator. 
“Your name must be Grant,” he remarked. 
“Where from, stranger?” 

“Loring Point, Delaware.” 

“We’re neighbors then. My home’s in New 
Hampshire. Concord’s the town.” 

“Isn’t that where the embattled farmers stood 
and—and fired—er—” 

“The shot that was heard around the world? 

35 



36 RIGHT GUARD GRANT 

No, General, you’ve got the dope all wrong. That 
was another Concord. There aren’t any farmers 
in my town. Come to think of it, wasn’t it Lex¬ 
ington, Massachusetts, where the farmers took 
pot-shots at the Britishers? Well, never mind. 
I understand that the affair was settled quite 
amicably some time since. Glad to be here, 
General?” 

“I think so. Thanks for the promotion, though. 
I’m usually just ‘Len.’ ” 

“Oh, that’s all right. No trouble to promote 
you. What does ‘Len’ stand for?” 

“Leonard.” 

“Swell name. You’ve got the edge on the 
other Grant. Ulysses sounds like something out 
of the soda fountain. Well, I hope we’ll hit it off 
all right. I’m an easy-going sort, General; never 
much of a scrapper and hate to argue. Last year, 
over in Borden, I roomed with a chap named 
Endicott. Dick was the original arguer. He 
could start with no take-off at all and argue 
longer, harder and faster than any one outside a 
court of law. I was a great trial to him, I sus¬ 
pect. If he said Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote 
‘The Merchant of Venice’ I just said ‘Sure, 
Mike’ and let it go at that. Arguing was meat 
and drink to that fellow.” 

“And what became of him? I mean, why 
aren’t you—” 


LEONARD GETS PROMOTION 


37 


“Together this year? He didn’t come back. 
You see, he spent so much time in what you 
might call controversy that he didn’t get leisure 
for studying. So last June faculty told him that 
he’d failed to pass and that if he came back he’d 
have about a million conditions to work off. He 
did his best to argue himself square, but faculty 
beat him out. After all, there was only one of 
him and a dozen or so faculty, and it wasn’t a 
fair contest. At that, I understand they won by 
a very slight margin!” 

“Hard luck,” laughed Leonard. “I dare say 
he was a star member of the debating club, if 
there is one here.” 

“There is, but Dick never joined. He said they 
were amateurs. What do you say to supper? Oh, 
by the way, you were out for football, weren’t 
you? What’s your line?” 

“I’ve played guard mostly.” 

“Guard, eh?” Slim looked him over apprais¬ 
ingly. “Sort of light, aren’t you?” 

“I guess so,” allowed Leonard. “Of course, I 
don’t expect to make the first; that is, this year.” 

Slim grinned wickedly. “No, but you’ll be fit 
to tie if you don’t. Take me now. Last year I 
was on the second. Left end. I’m only a soph, 
and sophs on the big team are as scarce as hen’s 
teeth. So, of course, I haven’t the ghost of a 
show and absolutely no hope of making it. But 


38 RIGHT, GUARD GRANT 

if I don’t there’s going to be a heap of trouble 
around here!” 

“Well, I suppose I have a sneaking hope,” 
acknowledged Leonard, smiling. 

“Sure. Might as well be honest with yourself. 
As for playing guard, well, if you got hold of a 
suit about three sizes too large for you, stuffed 
it out with cotton-batting and put heel-lifts in 
your shoes you might stand a show. Or you 
might if it wasn’t for this fellow Renneker. I 
dare say you’ve heard about him? He’s ab-so- 
lutively sure of one guard position or the other. 
And then there’s Smedley and Squibbs and 
Raleigh and Stimson and two-three more maybe. 
If I were you, General, I’d switch to end or 
quarter.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to elbow you out,” 
laughed Leonard. 

'“That’s right.” Slim grinned. “Try quarter 
then. We’ve got only two in sight so far.” 

Leonard shook his head. “Guard’s my job,” 
he said. “I’ll plug along at it. I might get on 
the second, I dare say. And next year— The 
trouble is, I can’t seem to grow much, Staples!” 

“Better call me ‘Slim.’ Everybody else does. 
Well, you know your own business best. Only, if 
you tell Johnny that you belong to the Guard’s 
Union and that the rules won’t allow you to play 
anything else, why, I’m awfully afraid that the 


LEONAED GETS PEOMOTION 39 

« 

only thing you’ll get to guard will be the bench! 
Let’s go to chow.” 

At the door of the dining hall they parted, for 
Slim’s table was not Leonard’s. “But,” said the 
former, “I guess we can fix that to-morrow. 
There are a couple of guys at our table that don’t 
fit very well. I’ll arrange with one of them to 
switch. Care to go over to Mac’s this evening? 
Being a newcomer, you’re sort of expected to. 
They’ll be mostly freshies, but we don’t have to 
stay long. I’ll pick you up at the room about 
eight. ’ ’ 

Under Slim’s guidance Leonard went across to 
the Principal’s house at a little after the ap¬ 
pointed hour and took his place in the line that 
led through the front portal and past where Doc¬ 
tor McPherson and Mrs. McPherson were receiv¬ 
ing. Slim introduced the stranger and then 
hustled him away into the library. “Might as 
well do it all up brown,” he observed sotto voce. 
“Met any of the animals yet?” 

“Animals?” repeated Leonard vaguely. 

‘ ‘ Faculty, ’ ’ explained Slim. 6 6 All right. We ’ll 
find most of ’em in here. They can see the dining 
room from here, you’ll observe, and so they sort 
of stand around, ready to rush the minute the 
flag goes down. Not so many here yet. Try to 
look serious and intellectual; they like it. Mr. 
Screven, I want you to meet my friend Grant. 


40 RIGHT GUARD GRANT 

General, this is Mr. Scriven. And Mr. Metcalf. 
Mr. Metcalf wrote the French and Spanish lan¬ 
guages, General.’ ’ 

“If I had, Staples, I’d have written them more 
simply, so you could learn them,” replied the in¬ 
structor with a twinkle. 

“Touche!” murmured Slim. “Honest, though, 
I wasn’t so rotten, was I, sir?” 

“You might have been much worse, Staples. 
Don’t ask me to say more.” 

“Well, I’ll make a real hit with you this year, 
sir. They say Sophomore French is a cinch.” 

“I trust you’ll find it so,” replied Mr. Metcalf 
genially. “Where is your home, Mr. Grant?” 

Presently Slim’s hand tugged him away to meet 
Mr. Tarbot and Mr. Kincaid and Mr. Peghorn, 
by which time Leonard couldn’t remember which 
was which, although Slim’s running comment, en 
route from one to another, was designed to aid 
his friend’s memory. “Peghorn’s physics,” ap¬ 
praised Slim. “You won’t have him, not this 
year. He’s a bit deaf. Left ear’s the best one. 
Don’t let him nail you or he’ll talk you to death. 
Here we are.” 

There were others later, but Leonard obtained 
sustenance before meeting them, for Slim so skill¬ 
fully maneuvered that when the dining room 
doors were thrown open only a mere half-dozen 
guests beat him to the table. To the credit of the 


LEONARD GETS PROMOTION 41 

faculty be it said that Mr. Kincaid only lost first 
place by a nose. The refreshments were satisfac¬ 
tory if not elaborate and Slim worked swiftly and 
methodically, and presently, their plates well 
piled with sandwiches, cake and ice-cream, the 
two retired to a corner. The entering class was 
large that fall and, since not a few of the other 
classes were well represented, the Doctor’s mod¬ 
est residence was crowded. Slim observed pes¬ 
simistically that he had never seen a sorrier 
looking lot of freshies. 

“How about last year?” asked Leonard inno¬ 
cently. 

“The entering class last year,” replied Slim 
with dignity, “was remarkably intelligent and— 
um—prepossessing. Every one spoke of it. Even 
members of the class themselves noticed it. 
Want another slice of cake?” 

Leonard rather pitied some of the new boys. 
They looked so timid and unhappy, he thought. 
Most of them had no acquaintances as yet, and 
although the faculty members and some of the 
older fellows worked hard to put them at their 
ease they continued looking like lost souls. Even 
ice-cream and cake failed to banish their embar¬ 
rassment. The Principal’s wife, good soul, haled 
them from dark corners and talked to them 
brightly and cheerfully while she thrust plates of 
food into their numbed hands, but so soon as her 


42 RIGHT GUARD GRANT 

back was turned they fled nervously to cover 
again, frequently losing portions of their refresh¬ 
ments on the way. Reflecting that even he might 
do some small part to lighten the burden of gloom 
that oppressed them, he broached the subject to 
Slim when that youth had returned with another 
generous wedge of cake. But Slim shook his 
head. 

“I wouldn't,” he said. “Honestly, General, 
they're a lot happier left alone. I'm supposed 
to be on the welcome committee myself, but I'm 
not working at it much. Fact is, those poor fish 
had a lot rather you didn't take any notice of 
them. They just get red in the face and fall over 
their feet if you speak to 'em. I know, for I was 
one myself last year!” 

“Somehow,” mused Leonard, “I can't imag¬ 
ine it.” 

“Can't you now?” Slim chuckled. “I want 
you to know that the shrinking violet hasn't a 
thing on me. Chuck your plate somewhere and 
let's beat it. There's no hope of seconds!” 

Back in Number 12 Haylow they changed to 
pajamas and lolled by the window, through which 
a fair imitation of a cooling breeze occasionally 
wandered, and proceeded to get acquainted. It 
wasn't hard. By ten o'clock, when the light went 
out, they were firm friends and tried. 

The business of settling down consumed several 


LEONARD GETS PROMOTION 


43 


days, and as the Fall Term at Alton Academy 
began on a Thursday it was Monday before 
Leonard really found himself. Slim was of great 
assistance to him in the operation and saved him 
many false moves and unnecessary steps. As 
both boys were in the same class Leonard had 
only to copy Slim’s schedule and, during the first 
day, follow Slim dutifully from one recitation 
room to another, at the end of each trip renewing 
Wednesday evening’s acquaintance with one or 
another of the faculty members, though at a dis¬ 
tance. In various other matters Slim was in¬ 
valuable. Thursday evening Leonard took his 
place at Slim’s table and so enlarged his circle 
of speaking acquaintances by eight. Several of 
the occupants of the board Leonard recognized 
as football candidates. There was, for instance, 
Wells, universally known as “Billy,” heir ap¬ 
parent to the position* of left tackle, and Joe 
Greenwood, who might fairly be called heir pre¬ 
sumptive to the fullback position, only one Ray 
Goodwin thus far showing a better right. There 
was, also, Leo Falls, who, like Leonard, was a 
candidate for guard. Thus, five out of the ten 
were football players, a fact which not only made 
for earneraderie, but provided a never-failing sub¬ 
ject for conversation. Of the others at the table, 
two were freshmen, likeable youngsters, Leonard 
thought; one was a sober-faced senior named 



44 EIGHT GUARD GRANT 

Barton, and the other two were juniors who, 
being the sole representatives of their class there, 
were banded together in an offensive and defen¬ 
sive alliance that, in spite of its lack of numbers, 
was well able to hold its own when the question 
of class supremacy was debated. On the whole, 
they were a jolly set, and Leonard was thankful 
to Slim for securing him admission to them; even 
though, as Slim reminded him, several of them 
would be yanked off to the training table not 
later than next week. 

What the others thought of Leonard the latter 
didn’t know, but they seemed to take to him 
readily. Perhaps the fact that he was sponsored 
by Slim had something to do with it, for Slim, as 
Leonard soon noted, was a favorite, not only at 
his table but throughout the school in general. 
(The fact that Slim was President of the Sopho¬ 
more Class was something that Leonard didn’t 
learn until he had been rooming with the former 
for nearly three weeks; and then it wasn’t Slim 
who divulged it.) I don’t mean to convey the 
idea that Leonard was unduly exercised about the 
impression he made on his new friends, but no 
fellow can help wanting to be liked or speculate 
somewhat about what others think of him. After 
a few days, though, he became quite satisfied. 
By that time no one at the board was any longer 
calling him Grant. He was “General.” Slim’s 


LEONARD GETS PROMOTION 45 

nickname had struck the popular fancy and gave 
every sign of sticking throughout Leonard’s stay 
at school. 

There wasn’t anything especially striking about 
the newcomer, unless, perhaps, it was a certain 
wholesomeness; which Slim, had he ever been 
required to tell what had drawn him to his new 
chum, would have mentioned first. Leonard ! 
was of average height, breadth and weight. He 
had good enough features, hut no one would ever’ 
have thought to call him handsome. His hair 
was of an ordinary shade of brown, straight and 
inclined to he unruly around the ears and neck; 
his eyes were brown, too, though a shade or two 
darker; perhaps his eyes were his best feature, 
if there was a best, for they did have a sort of 
faculty for lighting up when he became interested 
or deeply amused; his nose was straight as far 
as it went, but it stopped a trifle too soon to 
satisfy the demands of the artist; his mouth was 
just like any other mouth, I suppose; that is, like 
any other normal mouth; and he had a chin that 
went well with his somewhat square jaw, with a 
scarcely noticeable elevation in the middle of it 
that Slim referred to as an inverted dimple. 
Just a normal, healthy youngster of sixteen, was 
Leonard—sixteen verging closely on seventeen— 
rather better developed muscularly than the 
average boy of his years, perhaps, but with noth- 


46 EIGHT GUAED GEANT 

ing about him to demand a second glance; or cer¬ 
tainly not a third. He didn’t dress particularly 
well, for his folks weren’t over-supplied with 
wealth, but he managed to make the best of a 
limited wardrobe and always looked particularly 
clean. He was inclined to be earnest at whatever 
he set out to do, but he liked to laugh and did it 
frequently, and did it in a funny gurgling way 
that caused others to laugh with him—and at him. 

He might have made his way into the Junior 
Class at Alton had he tutored hard the previous 
summer, but as he had not known he was going 
there until a fortnight before, that wasn’t pos¬ 
sible. His presence at the academy was the un- 
forseen result of having spent the summer with 
his Uncle Emory. Uncle Emory, his mother’s 
brother, lived up in Pennsylvania and for many 
years had displayed no interest in the doings of 
his relatives. The idea of visiting Uncle Emory 
and working for his board had come to Leonard 
after Tim Walsh, football coach at the high 
school, had mentioned farm work as one of the 
short paths to physical development. Eather to 
the surprise of the rest of the family, Uncle 
Emory’s reply to Leonard’s suggestion had been 
almost cordial. Uncle Emory had proved much 
less of the bear than the boy had anticipated and 
before long the two were very good friends. By 
the terms of the agreement, Leonard was to re- 


LEONARD GETS PROMOTION 47 

ceive board and lodging and seventy-five cents a 
day in return for his services. What he did 
receive, when the time for leaving the farm ar¬ 
rived, was ninety-three dollars, being wages due 
him, and a bonus of one hundred. 

“And now,” asked Uncle Emory, “what are 
you doing to do with it?” 

Leonard didn’t know. He was far too surprised 
to make plans on such short notice. 

“Well,” continued Uncle Emory, “why don’t 
you find yourself a good school that don’t ask too 
much money and fit yourself for college? I ain’t 
claiming that your father’s made a big success 
as a lawyer, but you might, and I sort of think 
it’s in your blood. You show me that you mean 
business, Len, and I’ll sort of look out for you, 
leastways till you’re through school.” 

So that is the way it had happened, suddenly 
and unexpectedly and gorgeously. The hundred 
and ninety-three dollars, less Leonard’s expenses 
home, hadn’t been enough to see him through the 
year at Alton, but his father had found the bal¬ 
ance that was needed without much difficulty, and 
here he was. He knew that this year was pro¬ 
vided for and knew that, if he satisfied Uncle 
Emory of his earnestness, there would be two 
more years to follow. Also, a fact that had not 
escaped Leonard, there were scholarship funds to 
be had if one worked hard enough. He had 


i 


48 EIGHT GUAED GEANT 

already set his mind on winning one of the five 
available to Sophomore Class members. As to 
the Law as a profession, Leonard hadn’t yet made 
up his mind. Certainly his father had made no 
fortune from it, but, on the other hand, there 
were men right in Loring Point who had pros¬ 
pered exceedingly thereby. But that decision 
could wait. Meanwhile he meant to study hard, 
win a scholarship and make good in the eyes of 
Uncle Emory. And he meant to play as hard as 
he worked, which was an exceedingly good plan, 
and hadn’t yet discerned any very good reason 
for not doing that on the Alton Academy Foot¬ 
ball Team! 


CHAPTER V 

THE BOY ON THE PORCH 

He liked the school immensely and the fellows in 
it. And he liked the town, with its tree-shaded 
streets and comfortable old white houses. A row 
of the latter faced the Academy from across the 
asphalt thoroughfare below the sloping campus, 
home-like residences set in turf and gardens, 
guarded by huge elms and maples. Beyond them 
began, a block further east, the stores. One could 
get nearly anything he wanted in the two short 
blocks of West street, without journeying closer 
to the center of town. In school parlance this 
shopping district was known as Bagdad. Further 
away one found moving picture houses in variety. 
Northward at some distance lay the river, and 
under certain not too painful restrictions one 
might enjoy boating and canoeing. On Sunday 
Alton rang with the peeling of church bells and 
Bagdad was empty of life save, perhaps, for a 
shrill-voiced purveyor of newspapers from whom 
one could obtain for a dime an eight-section New 
York paper with which to litter the floor after the 
return from church. On that first Sunday Slim 
acted as guide and Leonard learned what lay 

49 


50 EIGHT GUAED GEANT 

around and about. They penetrated to the side¬ 
walk-littered foreign quarter beyond the railroad, 
where Slim tried modern Greek on a snappily- 
attired gentleman who to-morrow would be pre¬ 
siding over a hat cleaning emporium. The result 
was not especially favorable. Either Slim’s 
knowledge of Greek was too limited or, as he 
explained it, the other chap didn’t know his own 
language. Then they wandered southward, to the 
Hill, and viewed the ornate mansions of the 
newly rich. Here were displayed tapestry brick 
and terra cotta, creamy limestone and colorful 
tile, pergolas and stained glass, smooth lawns 
and concrete walks, immaculate hedges and dig¬ 
nified shrubs. Being a newer part of town, the 
trees along the streets were small and threw little 
shade on the sun-heated pavement, and this, 
combined with the fact that to reach the Hill one 
had of necessity to negotiate a grade, left the 
boys rather out of breath and somewhat too warm 
for comfort. On the whole, Leonard liked the 
older part of Alton much better, and confided the 
fact to his companion. 

“So do I,” agreed Slim. “Of course these 
places up here have a lot of things the old houses 
lack; like tennis courts and garages and sleeping 
porches; but there’s an old white house on Eiver 
street, just around the corner from Academy, 
that hits me about right. I’ll show it to you some 


THE BOY ON THE PORCH 


51 


time. I guess it’s about a hundred years old; 
more, likely; but, gee, it’s a corking old place. 
When I have a house of my own, General, none 
of these young city halls or Carnegie libraries 
for mine! I want a place that looks as if some 
one lived in it. Take a squint at that chocolate 
brick arrangement over there. Can you imagine 
any one being really comfortable in it? Why, if 
I lived there I’d be always looking for a bell-hop 
to spring out on me and grab whatever I had and 
push me over to the register so I could sign my 
name and get a key. That’s a fine, big porch, but 
I’ll bet you wouldn’t ever think of sitting out 
there on a summer evening in your shirt sleeves 
and sprinkling water on that trained mulberry 
tree! ’ ’ 

“I don’t believe,” laughed Leonard, “that they 
put anything as common as water on that cute 
thing. They probably have a Mulberry Tree 
Tonic or something like that they bathe it in. 
Say, there is some one on the porch, just the same, 
and it looks to me as if he was waving to us.” 

“Why, that’s Johnny McGrath!” said Slim. 
“Hello, Johnny! That where you live?” 

“Sure. Come on over!” 

Slim looked inquiringly at Leonard. “Want to 
go?” he asked in low tones. “Johnny’s a good 
sort.” 

Leonard nodded, if without enthusiasm, and 


52 EIGHT GUAED GEANT 

Slim led the way across the ribbon of hot asphalt 
and up the three stone steps that led, by the in¬ 
variable concrete path, to the wide porch. A boy 
of about Leonard’s age stood awaiting them at 
the top of the steps, a round-faced chap with a 
nose liberally adorned with freckles and unde¬ 
niably tip-tilted. He wore white flannel trousers 
and a gray flannel coat, and there was a liberal 
expanse of gray silk socks exposed above the 
white shoes. 

“Want you to meet my friend Grant,” said 
Slim, climbing the wide steps. “General, this is 
Johnny McGrath, the only Sinn Feiner in school. 
What you been doing to-day, Johnny? Making 
bombs?” 

Johnny smiled widely and good-humoredly. 
“You’re the only bum I’ve seen so far,” he re¬ 
plied. “Come up and cool off.” 

“That’s a rotten pun,” protested Slim, accept¬ 
ing the invitation to sit down in a comfortable 
wicker chair. “Say, Johnny, there must be 
money in Sinn Feining.” He looked approvingly 
about the big porch with its tables and chairs, 
magazines and flowering plants. “Is this your 
real home, or do you just hire this for Sun¬ 
days?” 

“We’ve been living here going on three years,” 
answered Johnny. “Ever since dad made his 
pile.” He turned to Leonard and indulged in a 


53 


THE BOY ON THE PORCH 

truly Irish wink of one very blue eye. “Slim 
thinks he gets my goat,” he explained, “but he 
doesn’t. Sure, I know this is a bit of a change 
from The Flats.” 

“The Flats!” repeated Leonard questioningly. 

“That’s what they call it over beyond the Car¬ 
pet Mills,” explained Johnny. “Shanty Town, 
you know; Goatville; see!” 

“Oh, yes! I don’t believe I’ve been there yet.” 

“Well, it isn’t much to look at,” laughed 
Johnny. “We lived there until about three years 
ago. We weren’t as poor as most of them, but 
there were six of us in five rooms, Grant. Then 
dad made his pile and we bought this place.” 
Johnny looked about him not altogether approv¬ 
ingly and shook his head. “It’s fine enough, all 
right, but, say, fellows, it’s awfully—what’s the 
word I seen—saw the other day! Stodgy, that’s 
it! I guess it’s going to take us another three 
years to get used to it.” 

“He misses having the pig in the parlor,” ob¬ 
served Slim gravely to Leonard. The latter 
looked toward Johnny McGrath anxiously, but 
Johnny only grinned. 

“ ’Twas never that bad with us,” he replied, 
“but I mind the day the Cleary’s nanny-goat 
walked in the kitchen and ate up half of dad’s 
nightshirt, and mother near killed him with a flat¬ 
iron ! ’ ’ 


54 EIGHT GUAED GEANT 

“Why did she want to kill your father with a 
flat-iron?” asked Slim mildly. 

“The goat, I said.” 

“You did not, Johnny. You told us it was a 
nanny-goat and said your mother nearly killed 
‘him.’ If that doesn’t mean your father—” 

“Well, anyway, I had to lick Terry Cleary be¬ 
fore there was peace between us again,” laughed 
Johnny. Then his face sobered. “Sure, up here 
on the Hill,” he added, “you couldn’t find a 
scrap if you was dying!” 

The others had to laugh, Slim ejaculating be¬ 
tween guffaws: “Johnny, you’ll be the death of 
me yet!” Johnny’s blue eyes were twinkling 
again and his broad Irish mouth smiling. 

“It’s mighty queer,” he went on, “how grand 
some of these neighbors of ours are up here. 
Take the Paternos crowd next door here. Sure, 
six years ago that old Dago was still selling 
bananas from a wagon, and to-day—wow!—the 
only wagon he rides in is a limousine. And once, 
soon after we moved in, mother was in the back 
yard seeing the maid hung the clothes right, or 
something, and there was Mrs. Paternos’ black 
head stuck out of an upstairs window, and think¬ 
ing to be neighborly, mind you, mother says to 
her, ‘Good morning, ma’am,’ or something like 
that, and the old Eye-talian puts her nose in the 
air and slams down the windy—window, I mean!” 



THE BOY ON THE PORCH 


55 


“ You’ve got to learn, Johnny,’’ explained Slim, 
“that yon can’t become an aristocrat, even in this 
free country of ours, in less than five years. That 
gives you about two to go, son. Be patient.” 

“Patient my eye,” responded Johnny serenely. 
“It’ll take more than five years to make aristo¬ 
crats of the McGraths, for they’re not wanting 
it. Just the same, Slim, it makes me sick, the 
way some folks put on side just because they’ve 
been out of the tenements a few years. I guess 
the lot of us, and I’m meaning you, too, couldn’t 
go very many years back before we’d be finding 
bananas or lead pipe or something ple-bee-an like 
that hanging on the old family tree!” 

“Speak for yourself,” answered Slim with 
much dignity. “Or speak for the General here. 
As for the Stapleses, Johnny, I’d have you know 
that we’re descended from Jeremy Staples, who 
owned the first inn in Concord, New Hampshire, 
and who himself served a glass of grog to Gen¬ 
eral George Washington!” 

“That would be a long time ago,” said Johnny. 

“It would; which is why we can boast of it. If 
it happened last year we’d be disclaiming any 
relationship to the old reprobate.” 

“McGrath’s right,” said Leonard, smiling but 
thoughtful. “We’re all descended from trade or 
something worse. I know a fellow back home 
whose several-times-great grandfather was a pi- 


56 EIGHT GUAED GRANT 

rate with Stede Bonnet, and his folks are as proud 
of it as anything. If it isn’t impertinent, Mc¬ 
Grath, how did your father make his money?’’ 

“In the War, like so many others. He was a 
plumber, you see. He’d gone into business for 
himself a few years before and was doing pretty 
well. Joe—that’s my oldest brother—was with 
him. Well, then the War came and Joe read in 
the paper where they were going to build a big 
cantonment for the soldiers over in Jersey. ‘ Why 
not try to get the job to put in some of the plumb¬ 
ing?’ says he. ‘Sure, we haven’t a chance,’ says 
my dad. ‘ ’Twill be the big fellows as will get 
that work.’ But Joe got a copy of the specifica¬ 
tions, or whatever they’re called, and set down 
and figured, and finally persuaded the Old Man 
to take a chance. So they did, and some sur¬ 
prised they were when they were awarded the 
contract! Dad said it was too big for them and 
they’d have to give some of it to another, but 
Joe wouldn’t stand for that. He had a hard time 
getting money for the bond, or whatever it was 
the Government wanted, but he did it finally, and 
they did the job and did it honestly. Their figures 
were away under the estimate of the other firms, 
but in spite of that they made themselves rich. 
Now I say why isn’t dad as much of a gentleman 
as old Pete Paternos? Sure lead pipe’s as clean 
as rotten bananas!” 


57 


THE BOY ON THE PORCH 

“That’s just the point,” replied Slim. “The 
rotten bananas are old and the lead pipe’s new. 
Give the lead pipe another two years, Johnny, 
and you can slap Paternos on the back and get 
away with it.” 

“I’m more likely to slap him on the head with 
a crow-bar,” grumbled Johnny. Then: “Say, 
fellows, want some lemonade?” 

“Not for worlds,” answered Slim promptly. 
“Where is it?” 

“I’ll have Dora make a pitcher in a shake of 
a lamb’s tail,” said Johnny eagerly, as he disap¬ 
peared. Slim smiled over at Leonard and Leon¬ 
ard smiled hack. Then the latter exclaimed pro- 
testingly: 

“Just the same, he’s a mighty decent sort, 
Slim!” 

“Of course he is,” agreed the other calmly. 
“I told you that across the street. Johnny’s all 
right.” 

“Well, then, aren’t you—aren’t you afraid of 
hurting his feelings? Talking to him the way 
you do, I mean.” 

“Not a bit. Johnny knows me, and he knows 
that what I say is for the good of his soul. We 
aristocrats, General, have got to make the hoi 
polloi understand that they can’t shove into our 
sacred circle off-hand. They’ve got to train for 
it, old man; work up; go through an initiation.” 


,58 RIGHT GUARD GRANT 

Leonard observed Slim in puzzlement and 
doubt. 

“Why,” Slim went on soberly, “what do you 
suppose old Jeremy Staples would say if he 
could see me now hob-nobbing with the son of a 
plumber! The poor old rascal would turn over 
in his grave, General. Bet you he'd turn over 
twice!' 9 

1 ‘ Oh , 9 9 said Leonard, ‘ 4 1 thought you meant it ! 99 

“Who says I don't! Ah, that sounds mighty 
cheerful, Johnny! Sure you didn't put any 
arsenic in it! My folks are English on my 
uncle's side!” 

“I’d not waste good arsenic on the likes of 
you,” answered Johnny, pouring from a frosted 
glass pitcher. Followed several moments of 
deeply appreciative silence during which visitors 
and host applied themselves to the straws that 
emerged from the glasses. Then Slim sighed rap¬ 
turously and held his glass out for more. 

“It may be poisoned, Johnny,” he said, “but 
I'll take a chance.” 

“Are you at Alton!” Leonard asked presently 
of his host. 

“Didn't I tell you he was!” asked Slim in mild 
surprise. “He certainly is. Johnny's the one 
bright spot on the basket ball team. You'll never 
know the poetry of motion, General, until you've 
seen him toss a back-hander into the hoop. The 


THE BOY ON THE PORCH 59 

only trouble with him is that, true to his race, he 
always mistakes a basket ball game for the Battle 
of the Boyne. At least, I think I mean the Boyne, 
Do I, Johnny?” 

“Maybe. I wasn’t there. Anyhow, you’re giv¬ 
ing Grant here a wrong idea of me entirely. I’m 
the most peaceable lad on the team, Slim Staples, 
and you know it.” 

“I know nothing of the sort,” protested Slim 
stoutly. “All I do know is that whenever you’re 
playing the casualties are twice as heavy as when 
you’re not. Oh, I know you have a foxy way of 
handing out the wallops, and that the referee 
seldom catches you at it, but facts are facts, 
Johnny, and I’m nothing if not factotum.” 

“You’re nothing if not insulting,” corrected 
Johnny. “Why does he call you ‘General?’ ” he 
continued of Leonard. 

“Why, he hit on that—” Leonard began. 

“Is it possible you never heard of General 
Grant?” demanded Slim incredulously. 

“Oh, that’s it? Well,” as Slim stood up to go 
and Leonard followed his example, “I’m pleased 
to have met you. Come again, won’t you? I’ll 
not be asking Slim, for he’s too insulting.” 

‘ ‘ Oh, now that I know where you live and what 
good lemonade you keep on draught, I’ll come 
frequently, ’ ’ said Slim kindly. 6 i Maybe we might 
drop around next Sunday afternoon about this 


t 


60 EIGHT GUARD GRANT 

time, or a little before. You’d better make it a 
point to have plenty of lemons on band.” 

“Why, if you come we’ll not be without them,” 
Johnny assured him sweetly. 

4 ‘Fine! And now, before we go, may we see 
the pig, Johnny?” 

“Sure,” replied the other, relapsing into a 
rich brogue, “it’s sorry I am, Slim my darlint, but 
the pig do be havin’ his afthernoon nap in the 
panthry, and he’d be that angry if I was wakin’ 
him! ’ ’ 

Going back down the slope of Melrose Avenue 
Leonard remarked: “He said there were six of 
them, Slim. Are there other brothers beside the 
Joe he spoke of?” 

“There were,” answered Slim. “There’s one 
other now, a little chap about twelve. I don’t 
know his name.” 

“What happened to the other brother?” 

“Killed in the War,” replied Slim briefly. 

“Oh!” 

“There was a citation,” added Slim. “Johnny 
says it’s framed and hanging over his mother’s 
bed. It’s a lucky thing for the country, General, 
that it doesn’t have to look up a fellow’s pedigree 
before it can let him fight; what?” 


CHAPTER VI 

THE SEASON BEGINS 

* t 

In spite of Slim’s predictions, Leonard’s calm 
announcement to Manager Tenney that he was a 
candidate for guard on the football team occa¬ 
sioned no evident surprise. Considering that 
within forty-eight hours Tenney had registered 
the name of a fat and pudgy junior whose con¬ 
suming ambition was to play quarter-back and 
had listened to the calm assurance of a lathe-like 
youth that he would be satisfied with nothing save 
the position of center, the manager’s absence of 
emotion was not surprising. Anyhow, Leonard 
was relieved to find that he was not to meet op¬ 
position at the outset, and took his place in 
Squad C quite satisfied. Football practice at 
Alton Academy differed from the same occupa¬ 
tion at Loring Point High School in at least two 
essentials, he decided. It was more systematic 
and it was a whole lot more earnest. There was 
little lost motion during the hour and a half that 
the candidates occupied the field. You didn’t 
stand around waiting for the coach to remember 
your existence and think up a new torture, nor, 

when the coach was present, did you spend pre- 

61 


62 EIGHT GUARD GRANT 

cions minutes in banter. From the moment of 
the first “Let’s go!” to the final “That’s all, 
fellows!” you had something to do and did it 
hard, impressed every instant with the impor¬ 
tance of the task set you. Of course, practice was 
less amusing, less fun here at Alton. There was 
no social side to the gathering. Even after a 
week of practice Leonard knew almost none of the 
fellows he worked with. He did know the names 
of many, and he had a ‘ ‘ Hello ’ ’ acquaintance with 
a half-dozen, but there was no time for the social 
amenities. 

He had been put down as a lineman and spent 
at least a half-hour daily being instructed in the 
duties of blocking and charging. Always there 
was another half-hour for each squad with the 
tackling dummies, of which headless opponents 
there were two. Generally the balance of the 
period was occupied in learning to handle the ball 
and in running through a few simple formation 
plays. In these Leonard was played anywhere 
that the assistant coach, usually acting as quarter, 
fancied. Generally he was a guard or a tackle, 
now on this side and now on that, but on two 
occasions he found himself cast for a backfield 
role and trotted up and down the field as a half. 
On Tuesday afternoon the first and second squads 
held the first scrimmage, and by Thursday Coach 
Cade had put together a tentative eleven to meet 



There was another half-hour for each squad with the 

tackling dummies 




















































63 


THE SEASON BEGINS 

Alton High School on Saturday. No one was sur¬ 
prised to see Gordon Renneker occupying the 
position of right guard, for Renneker’s fame had 
already spread throughout the school. 

That first engagement was played under a hot 
sun and with the temperature hovering around 
seventy-two when High School kicked off. Natu¬ 
rally enough, as an exhibition of scientific foot¬ 
ball it left much to be desired. High School 
showed lack of condition and her players were to 
be seen stretched on their backs whenever time 
was called. Alton appeared of somewhat sterner 
stuff, but there was no doubt that half-time came 
as a welcome interruption even to her. “ Johnny’’ 
Cade started Gurley and Emerson at ends, Butler 
and Wilde at tackles, Stimson and Renneker at 
guards and Garrick at center. The backfield con¬ 
sisted of Carpenter, Goodwin, Kendall and Green¬ 
wood. But this line-up didn’t persist long. Even 
by the end of the first quarter “Red” Reilly was 
at right half and Wells was at right tackle. Dur¬ 
ing the remainder of the game changes were fre¬ 
quent until, near the end of the final period,, 
second- and third-string players made up the 
team. Coach Cade tried out much unknown ma¬ 
terial that afternoon, and it seemed to Leonard 
that he was the only candidate who hadn’t been 
given a chance. As a matter of fact, though, 
there were some twenty others in like case, for 


64 RIGHT GUARD GRANT 

the squad had not yet been cut. It was when 
Alton was presenting her weakest line-up that 
High School cut loose with her second bombard¬ 
ment of overhead shots—the first essay, in the 
second quarter, had netted her little enough—and 
secured her lone touchdown. She failed to add a 
goal since her line didn’t hold long enough for 
her kicker to get the ball away. The final score 
of the slow and ragged contest was 23 to 6. 
Talking it over afterwards in the comparative 
coolness of Number 12 Haylow, Slim was pessi¬ 
mistic. Perhaps the fact that his own efforts 
during approximately half of the forty minutes 
of actual play had not been brilliantly successful 
colored his mood. 

“We’ve got plenty of material,” pronounced 
Slim, elevating his scantily-clad legs to the win¬ 
dow-sill, “and I guess it’s average good, but it’s 
going to take us a long time to get going this 
year. You can see that with half an eye. Look 
at the army of queers that Johnny tried out this 
afternoon. That’s what slows up development, 
General. Now, last year we had the makings of 
a team right at the start. Only three or four 
first-string lads, I think, but a perfect gang of 
experienced substitutes, to say nothing of second 
team fellows. Result was that we started off with 
a bang and kept going. You bet High School 
didn’t do any scoring last season!” 


THE SEASON BEGINS 65 

“But,” objected Leonard, “weren’t you telling 
me the other day that the team had an awful 
slump about the middle of the season, and—” 

i ‘Oh, well, that had nothing to do with the start. 
Two or three things accounted for that. What 
I’m getting at is just this. It’s mighty poor 
policy to spend the first two weeks of a football 
season finding out that more than half of your 
material’s no good to you. If I ever coach a team 
there’ll be no mob under my feet after the first 
three or four days. Thirty men’ll be all I’ll want. 
If I can’t build a team out of them, all right. I 
get out.” 

“Glad that rule doesn’t hold good now,” said 
Leonard. “If it did I’d be out of it already.” 

“Well, I don’t know. No, you wouldn’t either! 
That’s what I’m getting at. You can play foot¬ 
ball. You’ve done it for two years. You’ve had 
experience. All right. But look at the run of the 
small fry that—that’s infesting the field so you 
have to watch your step to keep from tramping 
on ’em. Why, suffering cats, most of ’em won’t 
be ready to play football for two years yet! 
There are chaps out there who couldn’t stop a ball 
with their heads! The ball would knock ’em right 
over. Well, Johnny gives each of ’em the once¬ 
over, and it takes time. He knows they aren’t 
going to show anything. It’s just this silly policy 
of giving every one a chance to make good. 


66 ' RIGHT GUARD GRANT 

That’s why you’re sitting on the bench and a 
bunch of scrawny little would-be’s are letting 
High School shove over a score on us.” 

“You may be right,” answered Leonard, “but 
it seems to me that it’s only by giving every one 
a chance to show what he’s good for that you, 
can be sure of not overlooking something. I’ve 
seen more than once a fellow who didn’t look like 
anything at all at the start of the season turn 
into something good later on.” 

‘ 1 Sure, that happens now and then, but what of 
it? If the fellow really has ability he keeps on 
playing. He goes to the scrubs or one of the class 
teams. If he makes good there he mighty soon 
finds himself yanked back to the first. And the 
coach hasn’t wasted a week or two trying to find 
out about him.” 

“Well, I guess I’m—I’m conservative, or some¬ 
thing,” laughed Leonard, “for I sort of like a 
team that starts slow and gets up its speed 
gradually. I know that back home our coach used 
to point us for our big game, the last one, and 
all the other games were taken as they came, 
more or less. Of course, when we played Dela¬ 
ware Polytechnic we smoothed out a bit and 
learned two or three new plays just beforehand, 
but we didn’t go out of our way much even for 
her.” 

“Oh, that’s all right, General. I don’t want to 


THE SEASON BEGINS 


67 


see any team hit its stride too early. Safe and 
slow is my motto, too, but that doesn’t mean 
you’ve got to get started a fortnight after school 
opens. Look here, I’ll bet you that next Satur¬ 
day Johnny won’t be any nearer settled on the 
team’s make-up than he was to-day. Well, of 
course, he’ll know about some positions, but he’ll 
still be experimenting. Rus Emerson’s the same 
sort he is, too; has an ingrown conscience or— 
or sense of responsibility toward others. If Rus 
had his way any fellow who could borrow a pair 
of football pants could have a week’s try-out!” 

“Who plays us next Saturday!” asked 
Leonard. 

“Lorimer Academy. They’re a nice crowd of 
chaps, and they don’t give us much trouble. Last 
year, though, they did sort of throw a scare into 
us. We got three scores to their two. It was 
right after that we played a tie game with Hills- 
port and went into a jolly slump. Say, that guy 
Renneker didn’t show up so mighty wonderful 
to-day, did you think?” 

“N-no, he looked a bit slow to me. But I guess 
he hasn’t got used to the place yet. Either that 
or he was sort of saving himself.” 

“Saving himself for what?” demanded Slim. 

“Search me.” Leonard smiled. “Maybe he 
thought there wasn’t much use working too hard 
against a weak team like Alton High.” 


68 RIGHT GUARD GRANT 

Slim shook his head, looking incredulous. “All 
I know is that the short time we were in together 
he was generally ‘on the outside looking in.’ 
Rather gives me the impression of being a poser. 
Still, to-day wasn’t much of a test; and he’s 
pretty big and perhaps the heat stalled him some. 
Hope he pans out big, for we sure need a corking 
good guard. Smedley’s a pippin, and Raleigh 
isn’t too bad, but we need another. To look at 
Renneker you’d expect him to be a hustler, but 
he didn’t show it to-day. He was outside most 
of the plays when I saw him. Not like Jim New¬ 
ton. Jim’s always in the middle of it. For a 
center, Jim’s a live wire. Doesn’t matter much 
where the play comes in the line; Jim’s always 
sitting on the enemy’s head when the dust clears 
away! Say, I wish you’d switch your game, Gen¬ 
eral, and try for tackle or something, something 
you’d have a show at.” 

“But you just said,” answered the other de¬ 
murely, “that the team needed another good 
guard.” 

Slim grinned and shook his head. “All right, 
son, but I’d like to see you on the team. That’s 
all.” 

“Think one of us ought to get on, eh?” 

“Huh? Oh, well, there’s something in that, 
too. I’m not very sure of a place, and that’s no 
jolly quip. Gurley’s a good end, worse luck! 


THE SEASON BEGINS 69 

And there's Kerrison, too. But I'll give them a 
fight for it. They’ll know they've been working 
if they beat me out, General! Let's go and see 
what they're giving us for supper.” 

Leonard met the captain that evening for the 
first time. Met him socially, that is to say, Russell 
Emerson and Billy "Wells overtook Leonard and 
Slim on their way to the movies. Wells was one 
of those Leonard already had a speaking ac¬ 
quaintance with, but Emerson had thus far re¬ 
mained outside his orbit. Continuing the journey, 
Leonard fell to Billy Wells and Rus and Slim 
walked ahead, but coming home they paired dif¬ 
ferently and Leonard found himself conversing 
with the captain, at first somewhat embarrassedly. 
But the football captain was easy to know, as the 
saying is, and Leonard soon forgot his diffidence. 
Of course, football formed some of the conversa¬ 
tion, but Leonard sensed relief on the other's 
part wffien the subject changed to the pictures 
theyffiad just witnessed. After that they talked 
of other things; the school, and Leonard's home 
in Rhode Island—Rus, it seemed, had never been 
farther south than he was now—, and the faculty 
and some of the fellows. The captain seemed to 
take it for granted that his companion was fa¬ 
miliar with the names he mentioned, although as 
a fact most of them were new to Leonard. Men¬ 
tion of “Jake,” the trainer, introduced a laugh- 


70 


EIGHT GUARD GRANT 


able story about Jake and a track team candidate, 
in which Rus tried to imitate Jake’s brogue. 
That reminded Leonard of Johnny McGrath, and 
he asked Rus if he knew him. 

“Yes, I’ve met him several times,” was the 
answer. “I’ve been trying to get him to try 
football. He’s a very good basket ball player and 
I’ve a strong hunch that he’d make a corking half. 
But his folks, his mother especially, I believe, 
object. He had a brother killed in the War, and 
his mother is dead set against taking chances with 
another of them. Too bad, too, for he’s a fast, 
scrappy fellow. The good-natured kind, you 
know. Plays hard and keeps his temper every 
minute. There’s a lot in keeping your temper, 
Grant. ’ ’ 

‘But I’ve heard of teams being ‘fighting mad’ 
and doing big things.” 

“Yes, the phrase is common enough, but ‘fight¬ 
ing earnest’ would be better. Just as soon as a 
fellow gets really mad he loses his grip more or 
less. He makes mistakes of judgment, begins to 
play ‘on his own.’ If he gets angry enough he 
stops being any use to the team. Of course there 
are chaps now and then who can work themselves 
up to a sort of fighting fury and play great foot¬ 
ball, but I suspect that those chaps aren’t really 
quite as wild as they let on. There’s Billy back 
there. He almost froths at the mouth and insults 


71 


THE SEASON BEGINS 

the whole team he’s playing against, but he never 
loses anything more than his tongue, I guess. 
The old bean keeps right on functioning as per 
usual. Billy doesn’t begin to warm up until his 
opponent double-crosses him or some one hands 
him a wallop! By the way, Grant, you’re on the 
squad, aren’t you? Seems to me I’ve seen you 
out at the field.” 

“Yes,” Leonard assented, “I’m trying.” 

“Good! What position?” 

“Guard,” answered Leonard stoutly. 

“Sure?” 

“I beg pardon?” 

Emerson smiled. “I mean, are you certain 
that’s the position you want? You look a little 
light for guard.” 

“I suppose I am,” said Leonard ruefully. “I 
tried hard to grow last summer, but I didn’t suc¬ 
ceed very well. Our coach back home insists that 
I ought to play guard and so I’m sticking to it. 
Probably I won’t have much of a show this year, 
though. ’ ’■ 

“Have you been in a scrimmage yet?” 

“No, I haven’t. I’ve been on Squad C for a 
week or so. I’ve been at guard and tackle, and 
played back, too. Sort of a utility man.” 

“Well, if you’re on C you haven’t done so 
badly. We’ll have to try you in the scrimmage 
some afternoon. To be honest, though, Grant, 


72 


RIGHT GUARD GRANT 


you’d have a better chance to get placed at tackle 
than at guard, for it just happens that we’re 
pretty well fixed for guard material this year. 
At least, we think so now. We may change our 
minds later. After all, a fellow who can play 
guard ought to fit pretty well into the tackle posi¬ 
tion. I dare say you’d rather do that than not 
get anywhere.” 

“I guess so,” replied Leonard. Then he 
laughed. “I suppose I’m sort of stubborn about 
playing guard, Emerson. I’ve just had it dinned 
into me that guard’s my game, and I can’t seem 
to take kindly to doing something else. But, as 
you say, I’d rather play any position at all than 
none!” 

“Why, yes. Besides, you don’t have to stick 
where they put you. I knew a fellow who started 
here in his second year as half-back on the scrub 
team, went to the first as end the next year and 
then played a corking game at center in his senior 
year. I guess that was an unusual case, but lots 
of chaps switch from line to backfield and vice 
versa. Well, here’s my hang-out.” The captain 
paused in front of Lykes. “I’m in 16, Grant. 
Come and see me some time, won’t you? Slim 
knows the way.” 

Slim and Billy Wells joined them and then the 
latter and Rus Emerson said good night and went 
into Lykes. Slim thrust an arm through Leon- 


73 


THE SEASON BEGINS 

ard’s as they continued toward their own dormi¬ 
tory. “Well, what did you and Rus cook up?” 
he inquired. 

“We settled one or two things; such as drop¬ 
ping you and Gurley to the second and putting 
me in at left end.” 

‘ i Fine! Anything else ? ’ ’ 

“Well, he said that if I didn’t like that he’d fix 
it for me to play tackle. Of course I told him 
that guard was my game, and he was awfully 
decent about offering to let Renneker go and put¬ 
ting me in at right guard, but I saw that it would 
make it a bit awkward for him, and I put my foot 
down on it at once.” 

“You would,” said Slim admiringly. “You’ve 
got a kind heart, General. I’ll say that for you. 
I wish,” added Slim feelingly, “I could think of 
something else to say for you!” 


CHAPTER VH 


JUST ONE OF THE SUBS 

It wasn’t until Wednesday of that week that Cap¬ 
tain Emerson’s quasi-promise bore fruit. Then 
Coach Cade, consulting- his note-book, announced 
“Lawrence and Grant, tackles.” Leonard wasn’t 
quite certain he had heard correctly, but Leo 
Falls, beside him on the bench, nudged him into 
action and he cast off his enveloping gray blanket 
and picked up a helmet. 

1 ‘Substitutes take the north goal and kick off,” 
directed the coach. “All right, Appel! Hurry 
it up!” - ■ 

Leonard trotted out with ten other youths and 
called to Appel, substitute quarter in charge: 
“Where do I go?” he asked. 

“What are you playing?” 

“Tackle.” 

“Well, for the love of lemons, don’t you know 
your position at kick-off?” asked Appel impa¬ 
tiently. “Get in there between Squibbs and 
Gurley.” 

As, however, Lawrence beat him to that loca¬ 
tion, Leonard disobeyed orders and sandwiched 
himself in at the left side of the line. Then Gar- 

74 


JUST ONE OF THE SUBS 75 

rick kicked off and the scrimmage started. Truth 
compels me to say that Leonard did not cover 
himself with glory during the ten minute period 
allowed him. He tried hard enough, but there is 
a difference between playing guard and playing 
tackle, and Leonard was much too unfamiliar with 
the subtleties of a tackle’s duties to put up much 
of a game. Besides, he was faced by two veterans 
in the persons of Captain Emerson at end and 
Billy Wells at tackle on the first. Baleigh, who 
played guard beside him, gave him hurried cues 
more than once when the play was headed his 
way, but that didn’t always prevent him from 
being turned in by the truculent Wells while a 
first team back galloped past for a gain. On 
offense Leonard did better, but he couldn’t think 
of much to console himself with when the period 
was over. First had scored twice, once by a 
touchdown and once by a field-goal, and the subs 
had never got inside the other’s thirty. To add 
to Leonard’s discomforture, he had plainly heard 
Appel inquire on one occasion, seemingly of the 
blue empyrean, and in pained tones, what he had 
done to be inflicted with a tackle who couldn’t stop 
a toy balloon! About the only thing that Leonard 
could think of to be thankful for was the fact that 
Carpenter had selected the right of the sub’s line 
for the attack that had brought the touchdown. 
It wasn’t much, but it was something! 


76 EIGHT GUAED GEANT 

With half a dozen others he was sent oil to the 
showers after the first period, and so he couldn’t 
see that Cash, who took his place in the succeed¬ 
ing period, did scarcely any better. Since Cash, 
though a newcomer, was a professed tackle, 
Leonard might have been cheered a trifle by wit¬ 
nessing that youth’s performance. As it was, 
however, it remained for Slim to dispel the gloom 
to some slight extent. “Why, you poor prune,” 
scoffed Slim later on in Number 12, “you don’t 
need to get hipped about what happened to you. 
Why, say, if you think you played punk you 
ought to see some of ’em! Bless your dear soul, 
sonnie, you were head and shoulders above a lot 
that get in. I was rather too busy myself to 
watch how you were getting on very much, but 
as I didn’t hear Appel saying much to you I judge 
that you did fairly well.” 

Leonard repeated the quarter’s remark about 
a tackle who couldn’t stop a toy balloon, but Slim 
only chuckled. “If that’s all ‘Bee’ said you must 
have done mighty well,” he answered. “That 
little hornet has a sting when he wants to use it, 
believe me, General! And if he’d been really out 
of patience with you he’d have been all over you!” 

“Well, I can’t play tackle,” said Leonard sadly. 
“That’s one sure thing.” 

“Oh, piffle! Snap out of it, General. To¬ 
morrow, or whenever you get another chance, 


77 


JUST ONE OF THE SUBS 

you’ll do a heap better. Anyway, you were on 
the hard side there, with Billy and Bus against 
you. Those two tough guys could make any one 
look sick!” 

“I don’t believe I’ll get another chance,” said 
Leonard. 

“Sure, you will. I dare say Johnny’ll have you 
back there to-morrow. Just you forget about 
being on earth for the sole purpose of playing 
guard and watch how the tackles handle their 
jobs. Then you go in and bust things wide open. 
If Billy gets too gay with you and passes out 
compliments, tell him where to get off and poke 
your elbow in his face. Don’t let him think you’re 
soft and easy, whatever you do. But, if you’ll 
take my advice, you’ll play right tackle next 
time!” 

“N-no,” said Leonard, “I guess I’ll stick where 
I was to-day—if I get another chance to.” 

“You’ll get the chance,” predicted Slim. “And 
I don’t know but what you’re right, at that. 
You’ll learn a heap more and learn it quicker 
playing opposite Billy than you would against 
Butler.” 

Disquieting rumors had reached Alton from 
Lorimer Academy. The Lorimer team was said 
to be unusually good this season, and since when 
only ordinarily good it gave Alton a hard battle, 
it was considered wise to make a few extra prepa- 


78 RIGHT GUARD GRANT 

rations for the next game. The result of this 
decision was to eliminate scrimmage on Thurs¬ 
day. Instead the first team and substitutes 
underwent a double dose of signal drill and 
learned two new plays. Perhaps the plays 
weren’t exactly new; few are any longer; but 
they were new to Alton, and Coach Cade devoutly 
hoped that they’d be new to Lorimer! Leonard, 
trailing his blanket around the sod in the wake 
of the team, was disappointed, for he had hoped 
to get another try-out to-day and had earnestly 
resolved to comport himself so much better than 
yesterday that Quarterback Appel would ask no 
more despairing questions of the heavens. But 
it was not to be. Instead, he was relegated to 
the role of looker-on, he and some twenty others, 
and so wandered up and down the field behind 
the workers, supposedly imbibing wisdom as he 
went. Finally all were dismissed except a hand¬ 
ful of kickers and sent back to the gymnasium 
and showers. 

The first cut was, announced the next morning, 
and that afternoon the second team came into 
being. Leonard was as surprised as relieved to 
find his name not among the seventeen on the list. 
He read it three times to make sure. Then he 
remembered that there would be other cuts com¬ 
ing, and felt less jubilant. There was a long and 
hard scrimmage that Friday afternoon, but he 


79 


JUST ONE OF THE SUBS 

didn’t get into it. However, since the coach had 
his thoughts centered on the morrow’s contest 
that day, Leonard was not unduly chagrined. It 
wasn’t likely that any fellow who hadn’t a chance 
of being called on to face Lorimer would com¬ 
mand Mr. Cade’s attention to-day. The new 
plays didn’t go any too well, and some of the 
older ones went little better. On the whole, there 
was a general air of dissatisfaction apparent 
about the field and, later, in the locker room of 
the gymnasium. Of course, as Slim remarked, 
walking back to hall with Leonard, beating Lori¬ 
mer “wasn’t anything to get het up about, but, 
just the same and nevertheless and notwithstand¬ 
ing, it would sort of feel good to hand those lads 
a wallop!” 

“I’ve got a hunch we’ll win,” said Leonard 
comfortably. 

“You have, eh? Well, I’ve got a hunch that 
we’ll have to show more form than we did to-day 
if we do lick ’em,” answered Slim grimly. “No 
one had any punch this afternoon. I don’t blame 
Johnny for being sore.” 

“Was he?” asked Leonard, surprised. 

“Was he! I’ll say he was! Don’t you know 
the symptoms yet?” 

Leonard shook his head apologetically. “I 
guess I don’t. He didn’t say much, did he?” 

“No, he said mighty little. That’s his way. 


80 RIGHT GUARD GRANT 

When he gets sore he shuts his mouth like a clam. 
Oh, of course, he talks up to a certain point, but 
after that—” Slim shook his head. “This after¬ 
noon he was so silent it was creepy! I wouldn’t 
be much surprised if there was a fine old shake-up 
about Monday. Well, we who are about to die 
salute you!” 

Slim drew aside at the entrance to Haylow, his 
fingers at his forehead, and Leonard passed im¬ 
pressively by. 

“I shall always remember you kindly, Slim,” 
he said. 

Leonard had been watching the Lorimer game 
exactly four and one-half minutes the next after¬ 
noon when the conviction reached him that the 
Gray-and-Gold was in for some hard work. It 
was four and a half minutes after the start of the 
contest that the Lorimer Academy full-back shot 
through the left side of the Alton line and, shak¬ 
ing himself free from the secondary defense, 
plunged on for fourteen yards before he was 
finally dragged down, landing the pigskin on the 
home team’s thirty-five. Leonard’s conviction 
was accompanied by a premonition of defeat. 
There was something decidedly awe-inspiring in 
the smooth efficiency of the invading horde. They 
were big chaps; big in a rangy way, though, and 
not merely heavy with flesh; and they moved with 
speed and precision and a kind of joyous zest that 


81 


JUST ONE OF THE SUBS 

promised trouble for those who should get in their 
way. According to the stories one heard, the 
Lorimer team was composed entirely of third and 
fourth year men, with five of the eleven first- 
choice players seniors. Leonard could well be¬ 
lieve that, for none of the enemy appeared to be 
less than eighteen years old, while three or four 
were probably nearer twenty. Opposed to them 
was a team of much younger players, of whom 
only three were seniors. Greenwood and Smed- 
ley, oldest of all, were but nineteen. Captain 
Emerson was eighteen. The balance of the 
players ranged from eighteen down to, in the 
case of Menge, sixteen. Alton was, also, many 
pounds lighter, especially in the backfield. Coach 
Cade might have presented a heavier line-up than 
he had presented, however. With Newton at 
center in place of Garrick and Stimson at left 
guard in place of Smedley the line would have 
gained several pounds of weight. The backfield 
likewise might have been improved in the matter 
of avoirdupois by substituting Goodwin for the 
diminutive “Cricket ’ 7 Menge. Reflecting on these 
things, Leonard, draped in his gray blanket, 
watched anxiously from the substitutes ’ bench 
while Jake, the trainer, restored Kendall with a 
sopping sponge and, behind him, the Alton sup¬ 
porters cheered encouragingly. After all, Leon¬ 
ard told himself, this was only the beginning and 


82 EIGHT GUARD GRANT 

Lorimer’s superiority might be more apparent 
than real. It took more than age and weight and 
bright yellow head-guards to win a football game! 

Lorimer had won the toss and given the ball to 
Alton. Garrick had kicked off and his effort had 
scarcely reached the enemy’s twenty-yard line. 
From there it had been run back some five yards. 
Lorimer had tried the Alton center and made less 
than two. Then she had punted and the ball had 
gone out at Alton’s forty. Joe Greenwood had 
made three at the right of the visitor’s center, 
Kendall had lost a yard on a try at left end and 
Carpenter had punted to Lorimer’s twenty-eight. 
Then the enemy had thrown an unexpected for¬ 
ward-pass from regular formation on first down 
and made it good for twenty-three yards, Captain 
Emerson pulling down the receiver just over the 
center line. Then the visitor’s big full-back had 
torn through for that astounding gain, and now, 
with the game less than five minutes old, the 
enemy was almost inside the scoring zone. 

Lorimer used a four-square backfield formation 
and a last-minute shift that was difficult for the 
opponent to follow. As the game went on she 
varied the direct pass by a snapback to the 
quarter, and a delayed pass following the latter 
proceeding accounted for several gains. Most of 
all, however, Lorimer had experienced players 
with weight and speed, which is a combination 


JUST ONE OF THE SUBS 


83 


difficult to beat, and the game went badly for the 
Gray-and-Gold during that first half. Although 
a stand was made on the twenty-two-yard line 
that held the invaders for three downs and neces¬ 
sitated a try for a field-goal that failed, Alton’s 
moment of humiliation was only postponed. It 
came finally soon after the beginning of the second 
period. An exchange of punts had gained a slight 
advantage for Lorimer and the 1 ‘Yellow-Tops,’’ 
as they were now being called in the stands, had 
twice made their distance, putting the ball down 
on Alton’s forty-one yards. Then came a play 
that fooled the home team badly. What had 
every appearance of being a plunge by left half 
through his own side, with the whole Lorimer 
backfield in it, proved a moment later to be the 
old hidden ball stunt, with the long-legged Lori¬ 
mer quarter sneaking around the other end and 
no one paying any heed to him. The whole 
Alton team had been pulled to the right, and the 
runner had a clear field for several precious mo¬ 
ments. When Carpenter tackled him he was only 
seventeen yards from the last line. 

That misadventure seemed to place the de¬ 
fenders of the north goal in a condition of con¬ 
sternation from which they didn’t wholly recover 
until the enemy had pushed the ball across. It 
took them but seven plays to do it, concentrating 
on Smedley and Butler and using their battering 


84 RIGHT GUARD GRANT 

full-back for four of the seven assaults. It was 
a sad sight to the Alton sympathizers on stands 
and bench, for the Gray-and-Gold warriors looked 
strangely helpless and their efforts to repel the 
attack only half-hearted. Yet, scarcely a minute 
later, those same warriors broke through the 
enemy line and spoiled the try-at-goal, a feat that 
had seemed impossible! 

With the score at 6 to 0 the game went on to 
the whistle that ended the second period, Alton 
battling fiercely to reach the Lorimer goal and 
never getting nearer than the thirty-six yards. 
Lorimer appeared willing to cry quits for the 
balance of the half, kicking on second down and 
seeming satisfied to play on the defensive. It was 
a penalty against the visitor for holding that 
aided Alton in penetrating as far into the enemy 
territory as the thirty-six. There, with two to go 
on fourth down, Captain Emerson, faking a place¬ 
ment kick, threw over the line. Menge, however, 
who was to have taken the pass, failed to get into 
position and the ball grounded. The half ended 
there. 

Leonard plodded back to the gymnasium with 
the others and sat around and felt very small and 
useless. There had been plenty of minor casual¬ 
ties, and Jake was busy all during the intermis¬ 
sion. Coach Cade talked earnestly to this player 
and that and finally to them all. He didn’t say 


JUST ONE OF THE SUBS 85 

much. He told them, in effect, that they were 
playing a mighty good team and there was no dis¬ 
grace attached to the touchdown that had been 
scored against them. He said that in the next 
half they would find it easier to stop Lorimer’s 
rushes, now that they knew her game better, and 
that he didn’t see why they shouldn’t be able to 
score a couple of times themselves. “Of course,” 
he added quietly, “you’ll have to play very dif¬ 
ferently from the way you’ve been playing, fel¬ 
lows. I’m willing to take my share of the blame, 
but there isn’t one of you with enough assurance 
to tell me that you played that half the way I’ve 
taught you to play! You tried out a system of 
your own. And it didn’t work. Now, then let’s 
try the other style of football, the sort you’ve 
been learning for the last two years. Watch the 
ball and not the players. You’ve been fooled so 
often you ought to have enough by now! And 
when you have the ball start sooner. Don’t let 
the other fellows stop you on your side of the 
line. And play hard, fellows, hard! Why, you 
haven’t any of you perspired yet! Come on out 
now and show those big guys what a lot of poor 
shrimps they are!” 

Of course what ought to have happened then is 
this. Alton, inspired by the coach’s words, filled 
with a new courage and a greater determination, 
returned to the field and trampled the foe under- 


86 RIGHT GUARD GRANT 

foot, showing a startling reversal of form and 
winning the game by an overwhelming score. 
Well, maybe, but it didn’t happen that way so any 
one could notice it. This is a truthful narrative, 
and facts are facts. 

The line-up for the third period was the same 
as for the first with the exception of Stimson at 
left guard in place of the much-battered Smedley. 
There were plenty of other changes before the 
game came to an end, but they were not yet. 
Lorimer kicked off and Kendall caught and was 
downed after a twelve-yard run-back. Carpenter 
sent Greenwood at the line and Joe hit something 
hard and bounced back. Menge got three outside 
left tackle and Carpenter punted short to mid- 
field. Lorimer made her distance and placed the 
pigskin on Alton’s forty-two. A delayed pass 
lost a yard. A plunge at left tackle was smeared 
by Stimson. Lorimer kicked to the ten yards and 
Carpenter ran back to his seventeen. Kendall 
got through on the right of the line for six yards. 
Kendall tried the same place again and was 
stopped. Carpenter ran wide around his left and 
gained two. Kendall punted and the Lorimer 
quarter was thrown in his tracks by Emerson. 
Lorimer started back from her twenty-four yards 
and found a soft place at Wells, making it first 
down on her thirty-seven. Another try at Wells 
was good for only a yard. Lorimer then threw; 


JUST ONE OF THE SUBS 87 

forward, but the pass was knocked down by Sta¬ 
ples. A second forward to the other side of the 
field grounded. Lorimer punted. 

And so the game went. Alton was playing 
better and harder, but she couldn’t make much 
headway at that. Carpenter seemed unwilling to 
attempt variety in the plays he ordered, and 
Lorimer solved most of them before they started. 
Several penalties were meted out, both teams 
sharing about equally. The third period ended 
with the ball in Alton’s possession on her own 
forty-yard line. With ten minutes left to play, a 

i 

victory for the home team was scarcely within the 
possibilities, while, on the other hand, it was very 
generally predicted that Lorimer would not be 
able to add to her holdings. 

Five fresh players went in for Alton. Newton 
succeeded Garrick at center, Renneker gave way 
to Raleigh, Wells to Wilde, Carpenter to Appel 
and Kendall to Reilly. Leonard, who had ex¬ 
pected to see the hard-fighting Goodwin replace 
young Menge at left half before this, was sur¬ 
prised to observe “Cricket” still in place when 
the whistle blew again. Appel proved an im¬ 
provement over Carpenter right away. “Bee,” 
as Slim had once remarked, had a sting, and it 
wasn’t long before Lorimer experienced it. The 
new quarter appeared to possess no awe of the 
enemy. He banged “Red” Reilly into the line 


88 EIGHT GUARD GEANT 

once and then called for a risky double-pass play 
that threw Menge around the enemy right end 
with almost a clear field ahead of him. The 
Lorimer right half nipped the play and stood the 
diminutive Cricket on his head after a seven-yard 
gain, but Alton cheered loudly and triumphantly 
and took heart. But the Alton advance ended 
four plays later when Eeilly fumbled and a 
Lorimer back shot through and fell on the rolling 
ball. Lorimer worked to Alton’s thirty-one, was 
held for three downs and attempted a desperate 
placement kick that fell five yards short. Seven 
of the last ten minutes were gone when a short 
forward pass straight over the middle of the line 
gave Emerson a chance to dodge his way for a 
dozen yards and put the pigskin down on the 
enemy’s thirty-four. 

Carpenter had twice tried the new plays for no 
results, and now Appel had a go at one of them. 
The one he selected was a half-back run from close 
formation, the ball going to quarter and from him 
to one of three players running past him and 
turning in around a boxed end. The chief merit 
of it lay in the fact that the ball was well hidden 
and the play could be made fast. Much, natu¬ 
rally, depended on the work of the linemen in 
doing away with the enemy defense. The ball 
went to the second runner in the tandem, who 
might be either one of the backs. The first man’s 


JUST ONE OF THE SUBS 89 

duty was to clear away the enemy’s secondary 
defense long enough for the man with the ball to 
get clear of the line. After that it was mainly 
up to the latter to look after himself, although, 
theoretically at least, he was protected from 
behind. 

Appel chose this play—Number 39 was its 
official title—with the ball on Lorimer’s thirty- 
four-yard line well over toward the west side of 
the field. Cricket Menge was second in line when 
the backs turned as the ball was snapped and ran 
past the quarter. The play was nearly spoiled by 
Slim’s inability to throw the opposing end in, but 
he did the next best thing and allowed him to go 
past on the outside. Reilly took the Lorimer 
right half and disposed of him neatly and Cricket 
piled around on his heels. Greenwood prevented 
a flank attack and then confusion reigned and for 
a moment no one could have said exactly what 
did happen. But when the moment—a brief one 
—had passed, there was Cricket running two 
yards ahead of the nearest pursuer and making 
straight for the goal. It was Appel who put the 
crowning touch on his work by spurting through 
the ruck and engaging the Lorimer quarter just 
in time. Menge, small and fleet, reached the goal 
line an instant later almost unchallenged. And 
after that the Gray-and-Gold held firmly against 
the charge of a frantic opponent and Bus Emer- 


90 EIGHT GUAED GEANT 

son dropped the ball very neatly between the up¬ 
rights and well over the bar, doing what Lorimer 
had failed to do on a like occasion and so winning 
a game that, viewing the matter without preju¬ 
dice, belonged to the enemy! 


CHAPTER VIII 


A STKANGE EESEMBLAN - CE 

The school weekly, The Doubleay —more gener¬ 
ally referred to as the “Flubdub ”—was almost 
epic over the Lorimer game in the following 
Thursday’s issue. It dwealt heavily on the dra¬ 
matic aspects and very lightly on the scientific. 
It found, or pretended to find, much encourage¬ 
ment in the masterly way in which the Alton rep¬ 
resentatives had overcome the enemy’s lead and 
soared to victory in the last minutes of play. 
Every one came in for a kind word—every one 
save the adversaries—and there was even ful¬ 
some praise for a few: Captain Emerson and 
Appel and Cricket Menge and Greenwood and 
Gordon Renneker. Even Slim, who had stuck it 
out for three periods, was mentioned approvingly. 
The Flubdub concluded with a flourish of trum¬ 
pets, declaring that the Alton team had already 
found its stride and was headed straight for a 
victory over Kenly Hall. 

The Flubdub's effusion is set forth here, out of 
chronological order, merely to show how judg¬ 
ments differ. There were others who viewed the 

Lorimer game with less enthusiasm; as, for in- 

91 


92 RIGHT GUARD GRANT 

stance, Slim and Leonard. Slim made a wry face 
and shrugged his shoulders. “Just plain rob¬ 
bery,’ ? said the left end. “We hadn’t any more 
right to take that game than—than nothing at 
all! Talk about stealing the baby’s rattle! Why, 
bless my soul, General, the only reason that ‘39’ 
play succeeded was because it went wrong! I 
was supposed to box that end of their’s, Kellog, 
and he wouldn’t box. By rights, he ought to have 
swung around back of me and spoiled the picture. 
Just by luck he didn’t, and Cricket got by and 
squirmed loose. That wasn’t good football, son, 
it was good luck. We played pretty fairly punk, 
the lot of us, although we did do a bit better after 
Appel took the helm. Bee isn’t the player Car¬ 
penter is, but he certainly can run the team a 
sight better, if you want my opinion. As for me, 
I don’t mind owning that I was rotten. But all 
the others were, too, so I don’t feel so badly. 
Even your friend Renneker did more heavy look¬ 
ing on than anything else, so far as I could see.” 

“I’m afraid I can’t claim him as a friend,” 
said Leonard. “He’s never known me since we 
parted in the cab that day.” 

“Well, I’m beginning to sour on that handsome 
guy as a tackle. Looks to me like he was touched 
with frost!” 

At about the same time that Saturday evening 
Rus Emerson was seated in Coach Cade’s front 


A STRANGE RESEMBLANCE 93 

room in the old white house opposite the school 
gate on Academy street. Johnny sat at one side 
of a big mahogany table and Rus at the other, and 
each was slumped well down on his spine as if 
he had put in a hard day’s work. The soft light 
of the lamp left their faces in shadow. The 
coach was speaking. “Who makes up these All- 
Scholastic Football Teams, Cap?” he inquired. 

“The papers, I guess. That is, the sports 
editors.” f 

“Reckon they make mistakes now and then?” 

“I wouldn’t wonder.” Rus smiled gently in 
the shadow. 

“H’m.” There was silence a moment. Then: 
“He certainly looks good,” continued the coach 
almost wistfully. “I don’t know that I ever saw 
a chap who came nearer to looking the part of a 
clever, hard-fighting lineman. Why, just on ap¬ 
pearances you’d pick him out of a crowd and 
shake hands with yourself.” 

“He certainly does look the part,” agreed Rus. 
“And maybe he will find his pace after a bit.” 

“Maybe.” But Johnny’s tone was dubious. 
“He won’t find it unless he looks for it, though, 
and it doesn’t seem to me that he’s taking the 
trouble to look.” The coach laughed softly, rue¬ 
fully. “The funny thing is, Cap, that he’s got 
me bluffed. I know mighty well that he needs 
jacking up, but every time I get ready to ask him 


94 RIGHT GUARD GRANT 

if lie won’t kindly come alive and take an interest 
in things he turns that calmly superior gaze on 
me and I haven’t the courage. Why, drat his 
handsome hide, Cap, he looks like he invented 
football! Speaking harshly to him would be like 
-—like knocking off the President’s hat with a 
snowball! ’ ’ 

Rus chuckled. “He’s got me like that, too. I 
want to apologize every time I open my mouth to 
him. Do you know, I’m beginning to wonder 
whether it wouldn’t he a good plan to switch him 
over to the subs for a few days. It might be good 
medicine.” 

“Ye-es, it might. We’ll see how he comes on 
the first of the week, though. Besides, Cap, who’s 
going to tell him he’s out of the line-up ? ’ ’ laughed 
Johnny. “Me, I’d have to write him a letter or 
send him a telegram!” 

There was a knock at the door and Tod Tenney 
came in. “Hello, Coach! Hi, Rus! Say, is 
there anything special this evening? Anything 
to discuss, I mean? If there isn’t I want to cut. 
There’s a shindig down town.” Tod grinned. 

“ ‘Nobody knows,’ ” hummed Rus, “ ‘where 
the Old Man goes, but he takes his dancing 
shoes! ’ ” 

“Yes, there’s one thing,” answered the coach 
gravely. “I’d like your opinion, Tod. What do 
you think of this fellow Renneker?” 


A STRANGE RESEMBLANCE 95 

Tod already had the doorknob in hand, and 
now he turned it, pulled the portal inward and 
sort of oozed through the aperture. But before 
the countenance quite disappeared the mouth 
opened and the oracle spoke. 

4 ‘He’s a false-alarm,” was the verdict. 

Then the door closed. 

Sunday afternoon Slim and Leonard went to 
walk again and, at Leonard’s suggestion, ended 
up at Number 102 Melrose avenue. Johnny Mc¬ 
Grath seemed extremely pleased to see them, but 
Slim had to hint broadly before the lemonade 
pitcher appeared. They talked of yesterday’s 
game, which Johnny had attended. “I took my 
kid brother,” said Johnny. “He plays on his 
grammar school team now and then. He’s a sort 
of tenth substitute or something, as near as I get 
it. Well, he told me confidentially yesterday after 
we got home that his team could beat the stuffing 
out of ours!” 

Slim laughed. “I wouldn’t want to say it 
couldn’t, the way we played yesterday. How 
does it happen, though, that the kid’s playing 
football when you can’t, Johnny?” 

Johnny smiled. “Mother doesn’t know it, you 
see. Maybe I ought to tell on him, but he’s crazy 
about it and I haven’t the heart. Sure, I don’t 
believe he’s likely to get hurt, for all the playing 
he does.” 


96 RIGHT GUARD GRANT 

“Nor I. I just wondered. I do wish you could 
talk your mother around, though.” 

“Why,” answered Johnny, “if I was to tell her 
I’d set my heart on it she’d not forbid me, Slim. 
But she’d be fearful all the time, and she’s had 
worry enough. And it isn’t like I cared much 
about it. Maybe I’d be a mighty poor football 
player, do you see! And, anyway, there’s basket 
ball, and baseball, too.” 

“I didn’t know you played baseball,” said 
Slim. 

‘ •In the summer. We have a team here in town 
called- the Crescents. I play second. Most of the 
fellow# are older than me. It’s a good team, 
too.”v 

“Saire,” said Slim. “I’ve heard of the Cres¬ 
cent^ Some of the fellows from the carpet mills 
are orf> it, eh!” 

“M^ost of them are mill fellows; McCarty and 
O’J&eefe and McCluer and Carnochan—” 

* j 

* ‘How come you don’t call yourselves the Sham¬ 
rocks! Or the Sinn Feiners!” 

/ “Well,” laughed Johnny, “our pitcher’s name 
is Cartier and the shortstop’s is Kratowsky. 
And then there’s—” 

“Don’t,” begged Slim, “I can’t bear it! Who 
do you play against!” 

“Oh, any one. We played about thirty games 
last summer and won more than half. We go 


A STRANGE RESEMBLANCE 97 

away for a lot of them. We went as far as 
Bridgeport once. We played twice at New Haven 
and once at New London and—” Johnny stopped 
and pushed a slice of lemon around the bottom 
of his glass with the straw. “Say, what’s the 
name of the big fellow who’s playing left—no, 
right guard for us?” 

“Renneker,” said Slim. “First name’s Gor¬ 
don. What about him?” 

“Nothing. Gordon Renneker, eh? Does he 
play baseball, do you know?” 

“No, I don’t, Johnny. Want him for the 
Crescents next summer?” 

Johnny shook his head. “I was—I was just 
wondering. You see, there was a fellow played 
on this New London team—the Maple Leaf it was 
called—looked a whole lot like this chap.” 

“Maybe it was he,” said Slim cheerfully, set¬ 
ting down his glass with a regretful glance at the 
empty pitcher. “Maybe baseball’s his real game 
and he got mixed.” 

“This fellow’s name was Ralston, George 
Ralston,” replied Johnny, frowning. “Sure, 
though, he was the dead spit of Renneker.” 

“I’ve heard of fellows changing their names 
before this,” said Leonard. “Perhaps, for some 
reason, Renneker didn’t want to play under his 
own name. Was he good, McGrath?” 

“He was,” answered their host emphatically. 


98 


RIGHT GUARD GRANT 


“He played first, and he had a reach from 
here to the corner of the porch and conld hit the 
cover off the ball every time. He played fine, he 
did. Kind of a lazy-acting fellow; looked like he 
wasn’t mnch interested. And maybe he wasn’t, 
if what they told ns was so.” 

“What was that?” asked Slim, smothering a 
yawn. 

“Well, it was the newsboy on the train handed 
me the story. I wouldn’t like to say he was giv¬ 
ing me straight goods, for he was a mean looking 
little guy. You see, those Maple Leafs beat us, 
something like 14 to 6 it was, and some of our 
crowd were kind of sore. Going back on the train 
they were talking over the game and this news¬ 
boy was hanging around. Pretty soon he came 
over to where I was sitting and got to talking. 
Seemed he lived in New London, or else he hung 
over there. Anyway, he knew some of the play¬ 
ers, and he got to telling about them. ‘That 
fellow Smith,’ he said—that wasn’t the name, but 
he was talking about the pitcher—‘gets thirty for 
every game.’ ‘Thirty what?’ I asked, not get¬ 
ting him. ‘Thirty dollars,’ said he. ‘No wonder 
we couldn’t hit him then,’ I said. ‘And how 
about the catcher?’ ‘Oh, he don’t get paid,’ said 
the boy. ‘They don’t any of the others get paid 
except that Ralston guy. They give him twenty- 
five. He don’t play regular with them, though.’ 


A STRANGE RESEMBLANCE 99 

I let him talk, not more than half believing him. 
Of course, I’d heard of fellows taking money for 
playing on teams supposed to he strictly amateur, 
but it’s always on the quiet and you don’t know 
if it’s so. Afterwards I told Ted McCluer what 
I’d heard and Ted said he guessed it was straight 
goods; that he’d heard that that pitcher wasn’t 
playing for his health.” 

Slim frowned and shook his head. “I guess 
you are mistaken, Johnny,” he said. “Ren- 
neker’s rather a swell, as I understand it, and it 
isn’t likely he’d he running around the country 
playing ball for a trifling little old twenty-five 
dollars. Guess you’re barking up the wrong tree, 
son.” 

“I’m not barking at all,” replied Johnny, un¬ 
troubled. “Only when I had a close look at this 
Renneker fellow yesterday he was so much like 
Ralston that I got to thinking.” 

“Well, I’d quit,” advised Slim with some 
emphasis. “And I’d be mighty careful not to 
tell that yarn to any one else. You know how 
long Renneker would last if it got around.” 

Johnny nodded. “That’s a fact,” he agreed. 

Leonard looked puzzled. “But if he isn’t the 
fellow McGrath took him for, how could it mat¬ 
ter any?” 

“You aren’t Julius Caesar,” answered Slim, 
“but you might have a hard time proving it.” 


RIGHT GUARD GRANT 


100 

“Get out! Caesar’s dead!” 

“So are you—from the neck up,” retorted 
Slim. “Come on home before you get any 
worse.” 

“I suppose, now,” said Johnny thoughtfully, 
“they’d not let Renneker play on the team if it 
happened that he really was this other guy.” 

“Of course they wouldn’t,” answered Slim, a 
bit impatiently. “What do you think! Accept¬ 
ing money for playing baseball! I’ll say they 
wouldn’t! But I tell you you’re all wrong about 
it, anyway, Johnny. So don’t talk about it, son. 
Even if a fellow is innocent, getting talked about 
doesn’t help him any.” 

“Sure, I know,” agreed Johnny. “It wouldn’t 
be him, I guess.” 

“Not a chance,” said Slim heartily. “Coming, 
General?” 

Half a block down the avenue Leonard broke 
the silence. “Sort of funny,” he remarked, “that 
the initials should be the same. { G. R.’; Gordon 
Renneker and George Ralston.” 

“Too blamed funny,” muttered Slim. 

Leonard looked at him with surprise. “You 
don’t think, do you, that—that there’s anything 
in it?” 

Slim hesitated a moment. Then: “Don’t know 
what to think,” he answered. “Johnny’s no 
fool. If you play baseball with a chap you get 


A STRANGE RESEMBLANCE 101 

a pretty good view of him. Of course, now and 
then you find a case where two fellows look so 
much alike their own mothers mightn’t know 
them apart at first, and Johnny might easily be 
mistaken. I dare say he didn’t get a very good 
look at Renneker yesterday. Besides, what would 
a chap like Renneker be doing barnstorming 
around for a measly twenty-five!” It was evi¬ 
dent to Leonard that Slim was working hard 
to convince himself. “Anyway,” he went on, 
“Johnny’ll keep it to himself after this.” 

“Yes,” Leonard affirmed, “but I think he still 
believes he’s right.” 

“Let him, so long as he keeps it to himself. 
I’m not awfully enthusiastic about this Gordon 
Renneker, General. So far he hasn’t shown any¬ 
thing like what you’d expect from a fellow with 
his reputation. And I don’t warm up to him 
much in other ways.. He seems a pretty cold fish. 
But he may get better, and, even if he doesn’t, I 
guess we wouldn’t want to lose him. So it’s up 
to us to forget all about this silly pipe-dream of 
Johnny’s, see!” 

“I see,” replied the other thoughtfully. 

Something in his tone caused Slim to dart a 
questioning glance at him, but Leonard’s counte¬ 
nance added nothing to his voice and they went 
on in silence. 


CHAPTER IX 


LEONARD MAKES A TACKLE 

Monday was a day of rest for those who had taken 
part for any length of time in the Lorimer game, 
and so the two teams that finally faced each other 
for a short scrimmage contained much doubtful 
talent. Leonard again went in at left tackle and, 
since he didn’t have Billy Wells and Captain 
Emerson to oppose him, he managed to do a great 
deal better. Cruikshank, who acted as quarter¬ 
back and captain of the patched-up eleven on 
which Leonard found himself, twice thumped the 
latter on his back and uttered hoarse words of 
approval. The two teams were very nearly 
matched, and the ten minute period was nearly 
over before either secured k chance to score. 
Then A Team got Dakin off tackle for a gallop 
of sixteen yards, and the pigskin lay close to the 
opponent’s twenty. Goodwin slashed through 
center for four and Dakin got two. Then Good¬ 
win tried the middle of the line again and found 
no hole, and there was a yard loss. Goodwin, who 
had been playing full-back until recently, had not 
yet fully mastered his new job. With five to go 
on third down, Cruikshank took the ball himself 


LEONARD MAKES A TACKLE 103 

and managed to squeeze through the enemy’s 
right wing and squirm along for the rest of the 
distance. The ball was then close to the ten-yard 
line. Kerrison dropped hack from end position 
to the eighteen and held out his arms. But no 
one was fooled by that gesture, and Dakin, plung¬ 
ing past Leonard, made less than a yard. Then 
it was “Kerrison back!” once more, and this time 
Leonard got the jump on the opposing guard and 
Dakin found a hole to his liking and plunged 
through to the four yards. With less than three 
to go, Kerrison went back to end position and 
on the next play the whole backfield concentrated 
behind Goodwin, and once more Leonard put his 
man out and felt the runner rasping by him. The 
opposition melted, and Goodwin went through and 
staggered well past the goal-line before he was 
downed. The coach wouldn’t let them try the 
goal, and so they had to be satisfied with the six 
points. They trotted back to the gymnasium 
fairly contented, however. 

Leonard secretly hoped that his performance, 
even though against a none too strong adversary, 
had been noted by Johnny. If it had the fact was 
known only to the coach and no immediate results 
materialized. On Tuesday, with the first-string 
men back in place, Leonard wasn’t called on; 
although he had plenty of work with C Squad. 
There was a second cut that afternoon and the 


104 RIGHT GUARD GRANT 

number of candidates left was barely sufficient for 
three elevens. Of that number, however, was 
Leonard, even though, as he assured himself, 
better players had been banished! 

Wednesday found him again at tackle, but now 
on the right of the line, with Stimson at one 
elbow and Gurley dodging back and forth at his 
other side. He found Butler less trying as a 
vis a vis than Billy Wells, but he somehow wished 
Johnny hadn’t changed him over. Billy, even at 
his deadliest, was an honorable foe, and even a 
partial success gained against Billy was some¬ 
thing to be proud of. Not, however, that Leonard 
found Butler an easy adversary. Far from it. 
Butler made Leonard look pretty poor more than 
half the time, while, when Leonard was obliged 
to give his attention to Left Guard Smedley, the 
substitute tackle made an even sorrier showing. 
On the whole, Leonard wasn’t a bit proud of his 
work, either on offense or defense, during the 
first period, and returned to the bench convinced 
that his goose was cooked. When Johnny, criti¬ 
cizing and correcting along the line of panting 
players, reached Leonard he stopped again. 

“Not so good to-day,” he said. “What was 
wrong, Grant V ’ 

Leonard hadn’t the least idea what was wrong, 
beyond a general inability to play the position as 
it should be played, and, besides, he was horribly 


LEONARD MAKES A TACKLE 105 


surprised and embarrassed by the unexpected 
attention. Nevertheless, after a moment of open- 
mouthed dumbness, he had a flash of inspiration. 

“I don’t think I can play so well at left tackle, 
sir,” he replied, meeting the coach’s eyes with 
magnificent assurance. Mr. Cade smiled very 
slightly and moved past. But he turned his face 
again toward Leonard an instant later. 

“I’ll take you up on that, Grant,” he said 
sharply. 

Leonard felt uncomfortable. He wasn’t quite 
certain what Johnny had meant. Besides, there 
had been something—well, not exactly unfriendly, 
but sort of—sort of rasping in his tone; as if 
Johnny had thought to himself, “Get sassy with 
me, will you. I’ll show you!” Leonard wished 
now he had kept his mouth shut. Some of the 
fellows who had taken part in the first period of 
scrimmaging were making their way back to the 
showers, but as no one dismissed him Leonard 
sat still and got his breath back and wondered 
what awaited him. Then Tod Tenney called 
“Time up, Coach!” and Johnny Cade swung 
around and pulled out his little book and sent 
them back on the field again. 

“B Team,” he called. “Gurley and Kerrison, 
ends; Wilde and Grant, tackles; Squibbs and—” 

But Leonard didn’t hear any more. He was 
shedding his blanket and telling himself fiercely 


106 RIGHT GUARD GRANT 

that he just had to make good now. The fierce¬ 
ness remained throughout the subsequent twenty- 
one minutes required to play ten minutes of foot¬ 
ball. At the first line-up Billy Wells smiled joy¬ 
fully at Leonard. “See who’s here,” he called 
gayly, swinging his big arms formidably. “Who 
let you in, sonny? Some one sure left the gate 
open! Which way are you coming?” 

“Inside,” answered Leonard grimly. 

“Welcome to our midst, sweet youth!” 

Of course Leonard didn’t go inside. In the 
first place, the play was around the right end, and 
in the next place Billy wouldn’t have stood for it. 
Leonard busied himself with Renneker, got 
slammed back where he belonged and then 
plunged through the melting lines and chased 
after the play. Rus Emerson slapped him on 
the back as they passed on their way to the next 
lineup. 

‘ 4 Glad to see you, Grant, ’ ’ declared the captain. 

On the next play Leonard and Billy mixed it up 
thoroughly, but truth compels the admission that 
of the two Leonard was the most mixed! You 
just couldn’t get under Billy. If you played low, 
Billy played lower. If you feinted to your right, 
Billy moved to his right, too. If you tried to 
double-cross him and charged the way you feinted 
he outguessed you and was waiting. He knew 
more ways of using his shoulder than there were 


LEONARD MAKES A TACKLE 107 

letters in the alphabet, and his locked hands com¬ 
ing np under your chin were most effective. No 
cat was half as quick as Billy and no bull-dog half 
as stubborn and tenacious. Yet Leonard did 
have his infrequent triumphs. Once, when Reilly 
wanted three yards to make the distance, Leonard 
put Billy Wells out completely and Red slid by 
for a yard more than needed. Leonard had got 
the jump that time by a fraction of a second, and 
he was so proud of his feat that doubtless it 
showed on his face, for Billy viewed him sar¬ 
castically for a moment and then announced: 
“Just bull-luck, you poor half portion of 
prunes!” 

Leonard paid for that moment of success two 
plays later when his chin got in the way of Billy’s 
elbow. They had to call time for Leonard, for 
an accidental blow on the point of the chin elimi¬ 
nates ambition for all of a minute. But he got 
up with ambition returning fast and gave Billy a 
promising look that brought a grin to that youth’s 
countenance. “Atta boy,” he approved. “Lots 
more waiting!” 

If there was Leonard didn’t go after it. In¬ 
stead, he was more careful to keep his head down. 
A leather helmet can take a lot of punishment 
without showing it. A few minutes later, after 
A Squad had taken the ball away and pushed her¬ 
self down to B’s twenty-six yards, Leonard had 


108 RIGHT GUARD GRANT 

the supreme satisfaction of smearing a play 
aimed at him. Billy came through all right, for 
Leonard let him, hut the hole closed behind him, 
and if Leonard felt any compunction because his 
cleats were digging into the lower extremities of 
the fallen Billy he didn’t show it! That time 
Billy viewed his adversary ponderingly as he ac¬ 
cepted the proffered hand and scrambled to his 
feet. 

“Huh,” he said, “the kid’s getting on, eh?” 

Leonard grinned. “On to you, Wells,” he 
answered. 

But these great moments were few and far 
between. Generally Billy was too good for the 
neophyte. Usually if there was a gain needed 
where Leonard held forth, that gain eventuated, 
although it wasn’t always as big as expected. 
Stimson helped his tackle in many a hard place, 
and Goodwin, playing behind, could be depended 
on to quell a too ambitious runner. Oddly enough, 
when Leonard found Renneker in front of him, as 
happened when A Squad spread her line open, he 
wasn’t nearly so concerned. Renneker, in spite 
of size and weight and reputation, could be fooled 
and, after a fashion, handled. Renneker was 
slow, for one thing. There was no doubt about 
that. The A Squad quarter was forever telling 
him so, even if Leonard hadn’t discovered the fact 
for himself. Leonard could handle Renneker far 


LEONARD MAKES A TACKLE 109 

better when A had the ball than he could Billy 
Wells. 

A Squad fought desperately to a touchdown 
and then added a goal. As she had already 
scored once in the first period, she was entitled 
to be a trifle lordly, which she was. B Squad 
kicked off again and Cricket Menge, catching near 
his five-yard line, raced back up the field, miracu¬ 
lously worming his fleet way through most of the 
enemy forces. At the forty yards he was still 
going, with his own players building a hasty in¬ 
terference about him and the B Squad players con¬ 
verging on him from all points, mostly from be¬ 
hind. Forced close to the side-lines near the center 
of the field, Cricket swung out from behind his in¬ 
terference and started across. Gurley dived for 
him and missed him. Cricket straightened out 
for the distant goal, still running hard and fast. 
Leonard and Reilly drew up on him as he passed 
the forty yard line, and Appel, the B Squad 
quarter, hovered anxiously ahead. It was a con¬ 
fused rabble of friend and foe that scuttled down 
the field. Leonard tried hard to get around 
Greenwood, plunging along in Menge ’s wake, but 
the big full-back held him away over two white 
lines. Reilly, edging in, dove too soon and went 
over and over. Greenwood, striving to hurdle the 
obstacle, faltered long enough for Leonard to 
thrust past him. Kendall threw himself in 


110 EIGHT GUARD GRANT 

Leonard’s way, but the latter hurdled over him. 
He was a bare three yards behind the runner 
now, and the thirty-yard mark was underfoot. 
Appel was edging over, yet not making the mis¬ 
take of leaving his goal too far. Leonard was 
too tuckered to do much planning. He put every 
ounce of strength into a last supreme effort, 
gained a little and plunged forward, arms out- 
thrust and fingers groping. 

His left hand closed on something tightly, he 
felt himself being dragged along the turf. Then 
Appel landed on Cricket’s back, and the race was 
over. Cricket turned a reproachful countenance 
toward Leonard when they had pulled him to his 
unsteady feet. But he managed a grin. So did 
Leonard. That was about all he could have man¬ 
aged just then, for his head was going around, 
his lungs were bursting and his stomach was hor¬ 
ribly empty. He was infinitely relieved when he 
discovered that the battle was over and that, hav¬ 
ing been assisted to his feet, he could make his 
uncertain way to the bench. He passed Coach 
Cade on the way, and the coach met his eyes and 
nodded. At least, Leonard thought he did. He 
was too exhausted to be certain of it. 


CHAPTER X 


THE SECOND TEAM COMES OYER 

That incident seemed to bring about a subtle dif¬ 
ference in Leonard’s relations with the other 
players. He received no particular praise for 
what, indeed, was only a part of the day’s work; 
probably none besides Appel and Slim referred 
to it; but the next day he noticed that many more 
of the fellows spoke to him or nodded to him in 
the gymnasium, on the way to the field or during 
practice. Jim Newton even hailed him as “Gen¬ 
eral,” having probably heard Slim use that nick¬ 
name. But Wednesday’s performance appeared 
to have made no difference in Leonard’s standing 
on the squad. To-day he relieved Lawrence for 
the last five minutes of the last scrimmage period, 
and that was all the attention he received from 
Johnny. Billy Wells nodded to him, but had 
nothing to say. That was Leonard’s last appear¬ 
ance in the line-up that week, for on Friday only 
the first- and second-string players got into the 
brief practice. On Saturday the eleven went to 
Hillsport and played Hillsport School, winning an 
easy contest by a score of 14 to 0. Leonard didn’t 

go along, although some half-hundred of the fel- 

111 


112 


RIGHT GUARD GRANT 


lows did. Instead, he and a half-dozen others 
whose presence at Hillsport had not been consid¬ 
ered necessary by the coach spent an hour or 
more on the field with a ball and they went across 
to the second team gridiron and saw the last half 
of a ragged game between the scrubs and a team 
of substitutes from the Alton High School. Slim 
showed up just before supper time with two 
broad strips of plaster over his right cheek¬ 
bone. 

It was on Sunday that Leonard first heard ref¬ 
erence to the Sophomore Dinner. “By the way,” 
said Slim, looking up from the book he was read¬ 
ing—it was raining, and the usual Sunday after¬ 
noon walk was out of the question—“have you 
come across for the dinner yet, General!” 

“Eh!” asked Leonard. “What dinner!” 

“The class dinner. You’re going, of course.” 

“Do you mean our class! I hadn’t heard 
about it!” 

“Oh, that’s so; the notices aren’t out yet, are 
they! Well, it’s to be the seventh of next month. 
I forgot this was your first year with us, old son. 
It’s always the first Saturday in November.” 

“First I’ve heard of it. How much does it 
cost!” 

“A dollar and a half this year. It used to be 
a dollar, but they put up the price on us. You’ll 
get your money’s worth, though.” 


THE SECOND TEAM COMES OVER 113 

“Why, I suppose I’ll go. Does every one? All 
the fellows in the class, I mean.” 

“Pretty much. A few pikers stay away. Same 
with all the class feeds, I guess.” 

“Do you mean that all the classes have these 
dinners?” 

“Sure. We have ours in November, the 
freshies have theirs in February, the juniors in 
April and the seniors in June, just before Class 
Day.” 

“Where do we have it?” asked Leonard. 

“Kingman’s this year. There are only about 
two places, Kingman’s restaurant and the Alton 
House. Last year we had the freshman feed at 
the Alton House, and it wasn’t very good.” 

“Is it fun?” 

“Sure it is. Especially when the freshies try 
to break it up! Last year the sophs had their 
shindig at Kingman’s and we smuggled Billy 
Wells into the basement in the afternoon and he 
hid behind a pile of boxes until about seven 
o’clock and then unscrewed the electric light 
switch. We came rather near getting into trouble 
over that. The sophs were upstairs, on the sec¬ 
ond floor, and of course we didn’t want to put the 
lights out all over the building, but we had to do 
it. Mr. Kingman was tearing mad and made a 
holler to faculty. It ended with an apology from 
the freshman class, though, for Kingman thought 


114 EIGHT GUARD GRANT 

it over, I suppose, and realized that if he made 
too much of a fuss we’d stop going to his place. 
Billy almost got caught getting out that night. 
He was sneaking out the hack way when he ran 
into one of the cooks. Billy swears the man had 
a cleaver in his hand. Anyway, Billy got behind 
a door or into a corner and they didn’t see him.” 
Slim chuckled. “The sophs didn’t get on with 
their banquet for nearly an hour.” 

‘ i But what’s the idea ? ’ ’ asked Leonard. 11 Why 
did you want to bust up their party?” 

Slim pondered a moment. Then he shook his 
head. “I don’t know. It’s just a custom. It’s 
always been done, I guess.” 

“And do the sophs do the same thing when the 
freshmen have their blow-out?” 

“Oh, no, that would be beneath our dignity. 
But we try to make things a little difficult for the 
juniors.” 

“I see.” Leonard smiled. “Then, after I’ve 
paid my dollar and a half, I can’t be quite certain 
that I’ll get my dinner, eh?” 

“Oh, you’ll get it,” answered Slim confidently. 
“No silly bunch of freshies is going to bust up 
this party, son! We’ll see to that. And that re¬ 
minds me. Keep your ears open from now on and 
if you hear anything let me know.” 

“Hear anything?” 

“Yes. You might, you know. Freshies like to 


THE SECOND TEAM COMES OYER 115 


talk big, and one of them might let drop some 
information that would he of interest to us. Of 
course, they’ll try something, you know, and it 
would make it easier for us if we got an inkling 
beforehand so we’d know what to look for.” 

“I see,” said Leonard. “I suppose you, as 
Class President, are sort of responsible for the 
success of the affair, Slim.” 

‘ 4 Well, I’m chairman of the dinner committee, 
and about half of our duty is to see that the 
freshies don’t hurl a monkey-wrench into the 
machinery, so to speak. Know any freshmen?” 

“Two or three, but only to speak to.” 

“Well, it would be a good plan to get better 
acquainted,” said Slim. “It’s an older fellow’s 
duty to be friendly with the freshies and make life 
pleasant for them, you know.” 

Leonard grinned. “And keep his ears open? 
Sort of like playing the spy, isn’t it?” 

“Of course. There’ll be a lot of spying done 
on both sides during the next fortnight. They’ll 
be trying to find out where we’re going to feed, 
and when, and we’ll be trying to find out what 
they’re going to do about it.” 

“But if we get out notices, as you said we did, 
what’s to keep the freshmen from knowing all 
about it?” 

“The notices don’t give the date and place, 
General. They’re just reminders to the members 



116 EIGHT GUARD GRANT 

of the class. Of course, the freshmen do find out 
easy enough, hut it makes them work harder if 
we don’t tell ’em. There’s one thing they won’t 
do, anyway, and that’s cut off the light. Mr. 
Kingman will take mighty good care that no one 
gets into the cellar this year!” 

“What will they do, do you suppose?” asked 
Leonard. 

“Search me! Maybe they’ll try to rush the 
hall. They did that three or four years ago, they 
say, and ate most of the dinner before the sophs 
could get them out again!” 

“Gee,” murmured Leonard, “I can’t imagine 
this year’s bunch of freshies trying anything like 
that!” 

“Well, you can’t tell. They get pretty cocky 
after they’ve been here a month or so. Besides, 
they had their election last week, and that always 
sort of starts them going. There’s a lot of them 
this year; nearly a hundred and thirty, I hear; 
and if they want to make trouble they can do it.” 

“How many of us are there, Slim?” 

“Ninety—something; ninety-six, I think. Oh, 
we can look after ourselves. The most they can 
do, in any case, is hold things up for awhile.” 

“Sounds exciting,” mused Leonard. “Do they 
ever get to scrapping?” 

“Oh, no, not what you’d really call scrapping. 
Sometimes there’s a rush and a few fellows get 


THE SECOND TEAM COMES OVER 117 

mussed up a little. There’s no hard-feeling, you 
understand. It’s just the freshmen’s bounden 
duty to break up the sophomore party if they can 
do it. They never do, but they keep right on 
trying. It’s rather fun, you know.” 

“Yes, but I guess I’ll have a good feed before 
I go,” laughed Leonard. “Then I’ll be sure of 
not starving!” 

He paid his dollar and a half to the class 
treasurer the next day and received the strictly 
confidential information that the dinner would 
take place on the evening of November 7th at 
Kingman’s Restaurant at seven o’clock. “You 
understand, I guess,” added Wilfred Cash, “that 
you’re not to mention the place or the date to 
any one.” 

“Oh, quite,” Leonard assured him gravely. 

That Monday afternoon the second team, which 
for unavoidable reasons, one of which was the 
inability to find a coach, was nearly a fortnight 
late in getting under way, came over and faced 
the first. Many familiar faces were to be seen 
amongst the scrub aggregation, for fully half of 
the second team’s line-up had tried for the big 
team and been rejected. Leonard, looking on at 
the scrimmage from the bench, still marveled 
that he was not taking orders from Mr. Fadden 
instead of from Mr. Cade. 

The second’s coach was an old Alton graduate 


118 RIGHT GUARD GRANT 

and a resident of the town who, at the earnest 
solicitation of the Athletic Committee, had con¬ 
sented to give up several hours a day to the task 
of providing something for the school team to 
whet their claws on. He was in the real estate 
business and was a busy man, and that he had 
listened to the call of the committee was greatly 
to his credit; the more so that, although he had 
played football well at Alton and, afterwards, at 
Yale, he had grown out of touch with the game 
and was forced to make a study of its modern 
developments before he dared face his charges. 
That year’s second team never quite reached the 
average of Alton second teams, but it was for no 
lack of hard work on the part of Mr. Fadden. 
He was quite a stout man, and the scrub was soon 
calling him ‘ ‘ Tub, ’ ’ though never to his face; but 
when the second team was dissolved a month 
later the nickname was no longer deserved, since, 
however the players had fared, Mr. Fadden had 
lost some thirty pounds from a portion of his 
anatomy where it had been extremely noticeable. 

Leonard had a few minutes of play at tackle 
and found himself opposed to a very tall and 
rather awkward youth named Lansing. Lansing 
wasn’t difficult and Leonard had little trouble 
with him. In fact, the whole second team showed 
up pretty poorly that afternoon and the first 
scored three times in twenty minutes of scrim- 



THE SECOND TEAM COMES OVER 119 

mage. The first might have done even better 
had she used her best line-up. As it was, most 
of those who had played against Hillsport on 
Saturday were not used. 

With the advent of the scrub team Leonard’s 
chance of getting into action was much dimin¬ 
ished, as he speedily realized. There were, natu¬ 
rally, but two tackle positions on the first, and 
for those positions there were exactly six appli¬ 
cants, including Leonard Grant. Billy Wells was 
mortally certain of the right tackle position, and 
Butler or Wilde would get the other. That left 
Lawrence, Cash and Leonard himself. Probably 
Lawrence would be chosen for second substitute. 
It looked to Leonard as if he and Cash would be 
out of jobs in a very short time! 

Theoretically, of course, those tackle positions 
were still open, but Leonard knew very well that, 
although he might conceivably give Lawrence and 
Cash—possibly even Wilde—a run for his money, 
he had no more chance of equalling Billy Wells 
or Sam Butler as a tackle than he had of displac¬ 
ing Johnny Cade as coach! It didn’t seem to him 
that Slim’s advice to become an applicant for a 
tackle position had been very good. Tackles were 
a drug on the market. Still, to be fair to Slim, 
so were guards! Well, he would just do the best 
he could and be satisfied with what he got. Per¬ 
haps he might manage to hang on by the skin of 


120 


RIGHT GUARD GRANT 


his teeth; and it would help him considerably next 
fall, he concluded, to finish this season out on the 
first team, even if he never got oft the bench 
again. 

With the Hillsport game out of the way, the 
season was half over and Alton metaphorically 
took a deep breath, cinched its belt up another 
hole and set its gaze on the Mt. Millard contest. 
Last year the neighboring institution, situated at 
Warren, some eighteen miles distant, had beaten 
Alton by the score of 10 to 0. Of course that was 
at the height—or perhaps bottom would be better 
■—of Alton’s historic slump, but the defeat had 
rankled. It rankled yet. Until two years ago Mt. 
Millard had been an adversary of no consequence. 
Then she had taken unto herself a new coach and 
won two games running, the first 19 to 0, the 
second 10 to 0. The fact that Alton hadn’t been 
able to score against Mt. Millard in two years 
made it even worse. There was a very general 
sentiment at Alton this fall in favor of defeating 
Mt. Millard, and defeating her conclusively. In 
fact, Alton wanted Revenge, Revenge with a 
capital R! To that end, therefore, on Tuesday 
Johnny Cade set to work to strengthen his de¬ 
fense against the kicking and passing game, which 
was Mt. Millard’s long suit. The offense was not 
neglected, but it was given second place in the 
week’s program. By Thursday two changes, each 


THE SECOND TEAM COMES OYER 121 


of which looked to be permanent, had been made. 
Reilly had succeeded Kendall at right half and 
Appel had taken Carpenter’s position at quarter. 
Several changes in the line were also tried, but 
none appeared more than tentative. Jim Newton 
was running Garrick very close for center and, 
strange to tell, Coach Cade on two occasions rele¬ 
gated Gordon Renneker to the subs and placed 
Raleigh at right guard. To an unbiased observer 
there seemed little choice between them, although 
they were notably different in build and style of 
playing. When practice ended Thursday after¬ 
noon, which it didn’t do until it had become 
almost too dark to see the ball, it would have re¬ 
quired a prophet of more than usual ability to 
predict the line-up that would face Mt. Millard. 

That evening Slim took Leonard over to Lykes 
to see Rus Emerson. Leonard went none too 
eagerly, in spite of Emerson’s invitation of some 
time ago, hut he went. Afterwards he was very 
glad he had. 


CHAPTER XI 


ALTON SEEKS KEVENGE 

Numbek 16 was already pretty well crowded when 
Slim and the diffident Leonard entered. Captain 
Emerson was there, and so was his roommate, 
George Patterson. Then there was Billy Wells, 
Tod Tenney, Jim Newton, Gordon Renneker and 
a chap named Edwards who later turned out to be 
the baseball captain. As it seemed to be taken 
for granted that every one knew every one else 
Leonard was not introduced. He and Slim 
squeezed onto a bed beside Jim Newton—the 
thing squeaked threateningly but held—and Rus 
passed them a bottle of ginger-ale, with two 
straws, and a carton of biscuits. Having helped 
themselves to the biscuits, they passed it on to 
Newton. Jim, at the moment engaged in conver¬ 
sation with Tod Tenney, absent-mindedly set the 
box on the bed. After that it couldn’t be found 
until Jim got up to go. And then it wasn’t worth 
finding, for it had slipped down under the big 
chap and was no longer recognizable. 

A good deal of “shop” was talked, in spite of 
Captain Emerson’s repeated protests. The Mt. 

Millard game was discussed exhaustively. The 

122 


ALTON SEEKS REVENGE 


123 


only feature concerned with it that was not men¬ 
tioned was the Alton line-up. That seemed to be 
taboo. Tod Tenney declared that if Alton didn’t 
wipe the ground up with those fellows this time 
he’d resign and let the team go to the bow-wows. 
Whereupon Jim Newton gave a grunt and re¬ 
marked that maybe if Tod resigned beforehand 
it would change their luck. 

“Luck!” countered Tod. “It isn’t your luck 
that’s wrong, you big piece of cheese. You’re 
scared of those fellows over at Warren. They’ve 
put the kibosh on you. Why, last year you didn’t 
know whether you were on your head or your 
heels. They didn’t have half the team that you 
had, and you went and let them lick the daylight 
out of you.” 

“Sic ’em, Prince!” murmured Stick Patterson. 

“Oh, well,” said Billy Wells confidently, “never 
mind last year, Tod. Keep your glimmers on 
Saturday’s fracas. We’re going to smear those 
lucky guys all over the field. We’ve got it on 
them in weight this year and—” 

“We had last year, too, hadn’t we!” asked 
Edwards. 

“Not above the collar,” grunted Tenney. 

“For the love of Mike, fellows,” begged Rus, 
“shut up on football. It’s enough to play it every 
day without having to talk it all evening.” 

“What else do you expect football men to talk 


124 RIGHT GUARD GRANT 

about?” asked Slim, rolling the empty ginger-ale 
bottle under Stick's bed. “You ought to know, 
Rus, that the football player's intellect isn't ca¬ 
pable of dealing with any other subject.” 

“Dry up, Slim,” said Billy Wells, “and move 
over, you poor insect. I want to talk to General 
Grant.” 

There being no room to move over without sit¬ 
ting in Jim Newton's lap, Slim crossed the room 
and took the arm of the Morris chair, just vacated 
by Billy. Billy squeezed onto the bed, securing 
another inch or two by digging Jim violently with 
an elbow. Jim grunted and said: “Little beast!” 
Billy turned a shrewd, smiling countenance on 
Leonard. 

“Well, how's it going?” he asked. 

“All right, thanks,” answered Leonard vaguely. 
Just what “it” was he didn't know. Probably, 
however, life in general. But Billy’s next words 
corrected the assumption. 

“How long have you been playing the tackle 
position?” he asked. 

‘ ‘ About three weeks,'' replied Leonard. i ‘ That 
explains it, doesn't it?” He added an apologetic 
smile. 

“Explains what? Oh, I'm not ragging you, 
Grant. Why, say, you and I had some swell 
times! If you've been at it only three weeks, I'll 


ALTON SEEKS REVENGE 125 

say you’re pretty good. But where’d you been 
playing?” 

“Guard. I played guard two years at high 
school.” 

“Guard, eh?” Billy looked slightly puzzled. 
“Must have had a fairly light team, I guess. You 
don’t look heavy enough for that, Grant.” 

“I am sort of light,” sighed Leonard. 

“Yes.” Billy sized him up frankly. “You’re 
quick, though, and I certainly like that. Had me 
guessing lots of times, I don’t mind telling you.” 

* ‘ Oh, I don’t know, ’ ’ Leonard murmured. “ I’m 
pretty green at it.” 

“You’ll do,” said Billy. “But, say, mind if I 
give you a couple of tips? It may sound cheeky, 
but—” 

“Gee, not a bit!” protested the other. “I wish 
you would. I—it’s mighty good of you.” 

“Well, I don’t pretend to know everything" 
about playing tackle,” Billy answered, “but there 
are one or two things I have learned, and I’m 
glad to pass them on to you, Grant, because you 
play a pretty nice game. Maybe if you were 
pressing me a bit closer for the position I 
wouldn’t be so gabby.” Billy grinned. “One 
thing is this, son. Watch the other fellow’s eyes 
and not his hands. I noticed you kept looking at 
my hands or my arms. Don’t do it. Not, at least. 


126 EIGHT GUAED GEANT 

if you want to get the jump on your opponent. 
Watch his eyes, son. Another thing is, don’t give 
yourself away by shifting too soon. You come 
forward every time with the foot that’s going to 
take your weight. There are several ways of 
standing, and it’s best to stand the way that suits 
you, but I like to keep my feet about even. That 
doesn’t give me away. Then when I do start it’s 
too late for the other fellow to do any guessing. 
See what I mean?” 

Leonard nodded, but a little doubtfully. “I 
think so. But we were taught to put one foot 
well behind us so we’d have a brace if the op¬ 
ponent—” 

“Sure, that’s all right if you’ve got to let the 
other fellow get away first. But you don’t need 
to. You start before he does, Grant. Look.” 
Billy held his hands out, palms upward, elbows 
close to his body. “Come up under him like that, 
both legs under you until you’re moving forward. 
Then step out, right or left, and get your lev¬ 
erage. Push him straight back or pivot him. 
You haven’t given yourself away by moving your 
feet about or shifting your weight beforehand. 
You try it some time.” 

“I will, thanks,” answered Leonard gratefully.' 

“And there’s one more thing.” There was a 
wicked glint in Billy’s eyes. “Keep your head 
down so the other fellow can’t get under your 


ALTON SEEKS REVENGE 127 

chin. I’ve known fellows to get hurt that way.” 

Leonard smiled. 4 'So have I,” he said. 

Billy langhed and slapped him on the knee. 
“You’ll do, General Grant,” he declared. He 
turned to Jim Newton, and Leonard, considering 
what he had been told, didn’t note for a moment 
that Gordon Renneker was speaking across the 
room to Slim. "When he did, Renneker was 
saying: 

“Baseball? No, very little. I’ve got a brother 
who goes in for it, though.” 

“Oh,” replied Slim, “I thought maybe you 
pitched. You’ve sort of got the build, you know, 
Renneker. Hasn’t he, Charlie?” 

Charlie Edwards agreed that he had, looking 
the big guard up and down speculatively. Ren¬ 
neker shrugged his broad shoulders and smiled 
leniently. “Never tried it,” he said in his care¬ 
ful way. “The few times I have played I’ve been 
at first. But I’m no baseball artist.” 

“First, eh?” commented Slim. “By Jove, you 
know, you ought to make a corking first baseman! 
Say, Charlie, you’d better get after him in the 
spring.” 

Edwards nodded and answered: “I certainly 
mean to, Slim.” 

Nevertheless it seemed to Leonard that the 
baseball captain’s tone lacked enthusiasm. Slim, 
Leonard noted, was smiling complacently, and 


128 


EIGHT GUAED GEANT 


Leonard thought he knew what was in his chum’s 
mind. Shortly after that the crowd broke up and 
on the way over to Haylow Slim asked: “Did you 
hear what Eenneker said when I asked him if he 
played baseball !” 

i “Yes,” said Leonard. Slim hadn’t once men¬ 
tioned the subject of Johnny McGrath’s suspi¬ 
cions since that Sunday afternoon, and Leonard 
had concluded that the matter was forgotten. 
Now, however, it seemed that it had remained on 
Slim’s mind, just as it had on his. 

“He said,” mused Slim, “that he didn’t play. 
At least very little. Then he said that when he 
did play he played at first base. "What do you 
make of that, General!” 

“Very little. Naturally, if he should play 
baseball he’d go on first, with that height and 
reach of his. I noticed that Edwards didn’t seem 
yery keen about him for the nine.” 

“Yes, I noticed that, too.” Slim relapsed into 
a puzzled silence. Then, at last, just as they 
reached the dormitory entrance, he added: “Oh, 
well, I guess Johnny just sort of imagined it.” 

“I suppose so,” Leonard agreed. “Only, if he 
didn’t—” 

“If he didn’t, what!” demanded Slim. 

“Why, wouldn’t it be up to us—or Johnny Mc¬ 
Grath—to tell Mr. Cade or some one!” 

“And get Eenneker fired!” inquired Slim in- 



ALTON SEEKS REVENGE 129 

credulously, as lie closed the door of Number 12 
behind him. 

“Well, but, if he took money for playing base¬ 
ball, Slim, he hasn’t any right on the football 
team, has he? Didn’t you say yourself that 
faculty would fire him if it was so, and they 
knew it?” 

“If they knew it, yes,” agreed Slim. “Now, 
look here, General, there’s no sense hunting trou¬ 
ble. We don’t know anything against Renneker, 
and so there’s no reason for starting a rumpus. 
A fellow is innocent until he’s proven guilty, and 
it’s not up to us to pussyfoot about and try to 
get the goods on Renneker. Besides, ding bust 
it, there’s only Johnny McGrath’s say-so, and 
every one knows how—er—imaginative the Irish 
are!” 

“All right,” agreed Leonard, smiling. “Just 
the same, Slim, you aren’t fooling me much. You 
believe there’s something in Johnny’s story, just 
as I do.” 

“Piffle,” answered Slim. “Johnny’s a Sinn 
Feiner. The Irish are all alike. They believe in 
fairies. You just can’t trust the unsupported 
statement of a chap who believes in fairies!” 

“You surely can work hard to fool yourself,” 
laughed Leonard. “I suppose you’re right, Slim, 
but it would be sort of rotten if one of the other 
schools got hold of it and showed Renneker up.” 


130 EIGHT GUAED GEANT 

“Not likely, General. Yon stop troubling your 
brain about it. Best' thing to do is forget it. 
That’s what I’m going to do. Besides, I keep 
telling you there’s nothing in it.” 

“I know. And I want to believe it just as much 
as you do, only—” 

“There isn’t any ‘only!’ Dry up, and put the 
light out!” 

On Saturday Leonard was very glad indeed 
that, in Slim’s words, there wasn’t any ‘only,’ 
for without Gordon Eenneker the Mt. Millard 
game might have ended differently. Eenneker 
found himself in that contest. Slim always main¬ 
tained that the explanation lay in the fact that * 
Eenneker’s opponent, one Whiting, was, like Een¬ 
neker, a big, slow-moving fellow who relied more 
on strength than speed; and Slim supported this 
theory by pointing out that in the last quarter, 
when a quicker and scrappier, though lighter, 
man had taken Whiting’s place Eenneker had 
relapsed into his customary form. Leonard re¬ 
minded Slim that by that time Eenneker had 
played a long, hard game and was probably tired 
out. Slim, however, remained unconvinced. But 
whatever the reason may have been, the big right 
guard on the Alton team played nice, steady foot¬ 
ball that Saturday afternoon. His work on de¬ 
fense was better than his performance when the 
Gray-and-Gold had the ball, just as it had been 


ALTON SEEKS REVENGE 


131 


all season. He seemed to lack aggression in 
attack. But Coach Cade found encouragement 
and assured himself that Renneker could be 
taught to play a better offensive game by the 
time the Kenly Hall contest faced them. The 
big guard had been causing him not a little worry 
of late. 

Mt. Millard brought over a clever, fast team 
that day. Her line was only a few pounds lighter 
than Alton’s, but in the backfield the Gray-and- 
Gold had it all over her in weight, even when 
Menge was playing. Mt. Millard’s backs were 
small and light, even her full-back running to 
length more than weight. Her quarter was a 
veritable midget, and if Alton had not witnessed 
his work for two years she might have feared for 
his safety amongst all those rough players! But 
Marsh was able to look after himself, as well as 
the rest of the team, and do it in a highly scien¬ 
tific manner. In spite of his diminutive size he 
was eighteen years of age and had played two 
seasons with Mt. Millard already. For that mat¬ 
ter, the visitors presented a veteran team, new 
faces being few and far between. 

Alton looked for trouble from the enemy’s pass¬ 
ing game and didn’t look in vain. On the third 
play Mt. Millard worked a double pass that was 
good for nearly thirty yards and, less than eighty 
seconds after the whistle, was well into Alton ter- 


132 


EIGHT GUARD GRANT 


ritory. That fright—for it was a fright—put the 
home team on her mettle, and a subsequent play 
of a similar style was foiled with a loss of two 
yards. Mt. Millard was forced to punt from Al¬ 
ton^ thirty-seven. Cricket Menge caught and 
made a startling run-back over three white lines. 
Then Alton tried her own attack and had slight 
difficulty in penetrating Mt. Millard’s lighter line. 
Greenwood ripped his way through for three and 
four yards at a time and Reilly twice made it first 
down on plays off the tackles. It was Red’s 
fumble near his own forty that halted that ad¬ 
vance. Mt. Millard got the ball and started back 
with it. 

From tackle to tackle the Alton line was in¬ 
vulnerable, save for two slight gains at Smedley’s 
position. Mt. Millard’s only chance, it seemed, 
was to run the ends, and that she did in good style 
until the opponent solved her plays and was able 
to stop them twice out of three times. But the 
visitor had brought along a whole bagful of 
tricks, and as the first period—they were playing 
twelve-minute quarters to-day—neared its end 
she opened the bag. Alton had plunged her way 
to the enemy’s thirty-seven, and there Menge, 
trying to cut outside of left tackle, had become 
involved with his interference and been thrown 
for a two-yard loss. It was third down and six 
to go, and Joe Greenwood dropped back eight 


ALTON SEEKS REVENGE 133 

yards behind center and spread his hands invit¬ 
ingly* But the ball went to Reilly and Red cut 
the six yards down to three by a plunge straight 
at center. Goodwin went back once more, and 
this time took the pigskin. But, although he 
swung a long leg, the ball wasn’t kicked. Instead 
it went sailing through the air to the side of the 
field where Menge was awaiting it. Unfortu¬ 
nately, though, Cricket was not the only one with 
a desire for the ball, and a fraction of a second 
before it was due to fall into his hands a long- 
legged adversary leaped upward and captured it. 
Cricket tackled instantly and with all the en¬ 
thusiasm of an outraged soul and the long-legged 
one came heavily to earth, but the ball was back 
in the enemy’s hands and again Alton’s triumph 
had been checked. 

One hopeless smash at the Gray-and-Gold line 
that netted less than a yard, and Mt. Millard 
opened her bag of tricks. Speaking broadly, 
there aren’t any new plays in football and can’t 
be except when an alteration of the rules opens 
new possibilities. What are called new plays are 
usually old plays revived or familiar plays in 
novel disguise. Mt. Millard, then, showed noth¬ 
ing strictly original that afternoon, but some of 
the things she sprang during the remainder of 
that game might almost as well have been fresh 
from the mint so far as effectiveness was con- 


134 EIGHT GUAED GEANT 

cerned. During the minute or two that remained 
of the first period she made her way from her 
own thirty-two yards to Alton’s sixteen in four 
plays, while the home team supporters looked on 
aghast. First there was a silly-looking wide-open 
formation with every one where he shouldn’t have 
been, to meet which Alton rather distractedly 
wandered here and there and edged so far back 
that when, instead of the involved double or per¬ 
haps triple-pass expected, a small half-back took 
the ball from center and ran straight ahead with 
it he found almost no opposition until he had 
crossed the scrimmage line. After that, that he 
was able to dodge and twirl and throw off tacklers 
until Billy Wells brought him down from behind 
just over the fifty-yard line, was owing to his own 
speed and cunning. 

When Mt. Millard again spread wide Alton 
thought she knew what was coming, and this time 
her ends dropped back only some five yards and, 
while displaying customary interest in the oppos¬ 
ing ends, kept a sharp watch on the wide holes 
in the line. What happened was never quite 
clear to them, for Mt. Millard pulled things off 
with dazzling speed. The ball shot back from 
center and well to the left. Some one took it and 
started to run with it, while the broken line of 
forwards came together in a moving wall of in¬ 
terference. Alton was not to be held at bay so 


135 


ALTON SEEKS REVENGE 

easily, and she went through. By that time the 
runner with the ball was well over toward the 
side-line on his left and when his wall of inter¬ 
ference disintegrated he stopped suddenly in his 
journey, wheeled about and threw the pigskin 
diagonally across the field to where, lamentably 
ostracized by Alton, the attenuated full-back was 
ambling along most unostentatiously. That throw 
was magnificent both as to distance and accuracy, 
and it reached the full-back at a moment when 
the nearest Alton player was a good twenty feet 
distant. What deserved to be a touchdown, how¬ 
ever, resulted in only a seventeen-yard gain, for 
the full-back, catching close to the side-line, with 
Slim Staples hard on his heels and Appel coming 
down on him in front, made the mistake of not 
edging out into the field while there was still time. 
The result of this error in tactics was one false 
step that put a flying foot barely outside the 
whitewashed streak at the thirty-two yards. I 
think the referee hated to see that misstep, for 
if ever a team deserved a touchdown that team 
was Mt. Millard. Even the Alton stands had to 
applaud that play. 

Mt. Millard went back to regular formation 
when the ball had been stepped in, and I think 
Alton breathed easier. The diminutive quarter¬ 
back used a delayed pass and himself attempted 
Slim’s end and managed to squirm around for 


136 


RIGHT GUARD GRANT 


three yards. That took the pigskin to Alton’s 
twenty-nine, and with three more downs to draw 
on there seemed no reason why the visitors 
shouldn’t score a field-goal at least. The Alton 
stands chanted the “Hold, Alton!” slogan and 
the visiting contingent shouted loudly and appeal¬ 
ingly for a touchdown. The Mt. Millard left half 
moved back to kicking position and the ball was 
passed. But, instead of a drop-kick, there was a 
puzzling double-pass behind the enemy’s line and 
an end, running behind, shot out at the right with 
the ball snuggled against his stomach and ran 
wide behind a clever interference to the sixteen , 
yards. Again it was first down, and the enemy 
had reeled off just fifty-four yards in four plays! 

It was one of those things that simply couldn’t 
be done—and had been done! 

Before Marsh could call his signals again the 
quarter ended. 



CHAPTER XII 


VICTORY HARD WON 

The long-suffering reader mustn’t think that I 
have any intention of inflicting on him a detailed 
account of the remaining three periods of that 
game. I have offended sufficiently already. Be¬ 
sides, it was that first period, with a few moments 
of the second, and the last quarter only that held 
the high lights. The in-between was interesting 
to watch, but it would be dull reading. 

Mt. Millard started the second period on Al¬ 
ton’s sixteen and, perhaps just to show that she 
could perform the feat against a still bewildered 
opponent, slashed a back through between Newton 
and Renneker for three yards on a fake run 
around end. Of course had she tried such a thing 
a second time it wouldn’t have come off, but 
Marsh had no intention of trying it. He deployed 
his ends, sent his goal-kicker back and then heaved 
across the center of the line. Fortunately for the 
defenders of the south goal, Reilly knocked down 
the ball. After that there wasn’t much left for 
Mt. Millard but a try-at-goal, and after a confer¬ 
ence between captain and quarter the try was 
made. The kicker retreated a good twelve yards 

137 


138 RIGHT GUARD GRANT 

from his center, which took him close to the 
twenty-five line, a retreat that in view of subse¬ 
quent happenings was well advised. For Alton, 
stung by recent reverses, piled through the Mt. 
Millard forwards and hurled aside the guardian 
backs. It was just those added yards that de¬ 
feated her. The ball, hurtling away from the 
kicker’s toe, passed safely above upstretched 
hands and sailed over the cross-bar. 

Mt. Millard did a few hand-springs while a 3 
was placed to her credit on the score-board, and 
her delighted supporters yelled themselves hoarse. 
There was noticeable lack of enthusiasm on the 
other side of the field, although by the time the 
opponents again faced each other for the kick-off 
the Alton cheerers had found their voices again. 
The balance of the second period held its mo¬ 
ments of excitement, but on the whole it was tame 
and colorless after that first quarter. Alton, re¬ 
gaining the ball after she had kicked it off, started 
another pilgrimage to the distant goal, smearing 
the enemy with hard, old-style football and eat¬ 
ing up ground steadily if slowly. Once Menge got 
safely away around the Mt. Millard left end and 
shot over sixteen yards of trampled turf before 
an enemy stood him on his head, but for the rest 
it was gruelling work, the more gruelling as the 
attack drew near the edge of scoring territory. 
If Mt. Millard was light of weight she was never- 


VICTORY HARD WON 139 

theless game, and seldom indeed did the Alton 
attack get started before the enemy was half-way 
to meet it. Reilly gave place to Kendall in the 
middle of the journey, and Smedley to Stimson. 
Mt. Millard likewise called on two fresh recruits 
to strengthen her line. Alton hammered her way 
to the Mt. Millard twenty-eight yards and there 
struck a snag. Greenwood failed to gain at the 
center, Kendall was repulsed for a slight loss. 
Greenwood made four on a wide run from kicking 
position, and then, with seven to gain on fourth 
down, it was put up to Captain Emerson, and that 
youth tried hard to tie the score with a placement- 
kick from just hack of the thirty yards. The aim 
was true enough, but Rus hadn’t put quite enough 
into the swing of his leg and the ball passed just 
under the bar, so close to it, indeed, that deceived 
Alton supporters cheered loudly and long before 
they discovered their error. Mt. Millard kicked 
on second down and the few plays that brought 
the half to an end were all in Alton territory. 

The visitor presented the same line-up when the 
third quarter began. For Alton, Red Reilly was 
back at right half and Garrick was at center in 
place of Newton. Alton was expected to return 
refreshed and determined and wreak swift ven¬ 
geance on the foe, and the anxious cheerers gave 
the players a fine welcome when they trotted back 
to the gridiron. But although the Gray-and-Gold 


140 EIGHT GUAED GEANT 

seemed to have profited by the interim and 
played with more skill than before, Mt. Millard 
was still clever enough to hold her off during the 
succeeding twelve minutes. Alton tried three 
forward-passes and made one of them good. 
This brought a reward of fourteen yards. An¬ 
other pass grounded and a third went to Mt. 
Millard. To offset that fourteen yards, the Gray- 
and-Gold was twice penalized for off-side. Twice 
Alton reached the enemy’s thirty-yard line only 
to be turned back. The first time Greenwood 
missed the pass for a six-yard loss and was forced 
to punt and the other time Mt. Millard inter¬ 
cepted Appel’s toss across the left wing. When, 
at last, the whistle once more sounded, the ball 
was in Alton’s hands close to Mt. Millard’s forty- 
yard line. The teams changed goals and the final 
period started. 

Greenwood got seven yards outside right tackle 
and put the ball on Mt. Millard’s thirty-four. 
Menge made one through left guard. With two to 
go, Greenwood smashed through the left of center 
for six, but the horn sounded and the ball was 
put back fifteen yards for holding. Greenwood 
ran from kicking position, but a ubiquitous Mt. 
Millard end dumped him well back of the line. 
Greenwood punted to the corner of the field and 
the ball rolled across the goal-line. Mt. Millard 
got four yards in two plunges at Stimson and 


VICTORY HARD WON 141 

then made the rest of her distance by sending a 
half around Slim’s end. Another attempt at 
Stimson was good for three yards, but when the 
full-back tried Renneker he was stopped short. 
On third down Marsh threw across the field to 
a waiting half, but Slim knocked the ball aside 
just short of the receiver’s hands. Mt. Millard 
punted to Alton’s twenty-eight and Appel caught 
and by clever dodging raced back to the forty- 
one. 

Then Alton’s big drive began. Using a tackles- 
back shift, Appel sent Greenwood and Reilly and 
again Greenwood at the Mt. Millard line, first on 
one side of center and then on the other, and took 
the pigskin into the enemy’s country. Then 
Menge got three around left and Slim, running 
behind, added three more on a wide expedition in 
the same direction. Greenwood threw short 
across the center to Captain Emerson, and Rus 
made five before he was thrown. From the thirty- 
seven the ball went more slowly, but no less cer¬ 
tainly to the twenty-five. There a skin tackle 
play at the right gained but a yard, and Green¬ 
wood again threw forward, the ball grounding. 
From kick formation Greenwood raced around 
left for five. With six to go he stood back as if 
to try a goal, but the ball went to Reilly who, with 
the right tackle ahead of him, dug a passage 
through center and made the necessary four 


142 


RIGHT GUARD GRANT 


yards. After that there was no stopping the in¬ 
vasion. From the fifteen to the four Reilly and 
Greenwood, alternating, went in four tries. With 
the Alton stand cheering madly, imploringly, 
little Menge slid around left end while the attack 
was faked at the center and made the one-yard. 
From there Greenwood was pushed over on the 
second attempt. 

When the teams lined up on the five-yard line 
it was Captain Emerson who went back for the 
try-at-goal. This time, the line holding stoutly, 
he had no difficulty in placing the ball over the 
bar, and it was Alton’s turn to celebrate. At last, 
it seemed, the hoodoo had been broken and Mt. 
Millard defeated. 

There remained, however, more than six min¬ 
utes of playing time, and much might happen in 
six minutes. Much did happen, for when, having 
kicked off to Alton and forced the latter to punt 
after once gaining her distance, Mt. Millard went 
back to her bag of tricks. Some of the things she 
tried were weird and some risky, so risky that 
only desperation could have counseled them. 
But too frequently they were successful. A wide 
formation with both ends on one side of the line 
and the tackles on the other was good for a 
twelve-yard gain when the ball was shot obliquely 
across the field. The runner was spilled before 
he could get started by Rus Emerson, but twelve 


VICTORY HARD WON 143 

yards was enough to move the stakes to a new 
location. After a plunge at the line, good for two 
yards, the enemy used the same formation again. 
But this time a quartering run by a half-back 
eventuated and was stopped almost at the line. 
Again Mt. Millard tried a long forward-pass. 
The receiver was out of position and the ball 
came back. Faking a punt, the full-back hit the 
Alton line and went through for eight yards, 
placing the ball on Alton’s forty-six. 

Desperately indeed the visitor waged the at¬ 
tack. Mr. Cade sent in three fresh players; 
Wilde for Stimson, Kerrison for Emerson and 
Dakin for Reilly. Mt. Millard had already made 
several substitutions, one a guard who gave Gor¬ 
don Renneker a hard battle. Forced to punt at 
last, Mt. Millard sent the ball over the goal-line, 
and Alton lined up on the twenty. Here it was 
that Dakin nearly upset the apple-cart. Plung¬ 
ing at tackle on his own side, he let go of the ball, 
and it trickled across the field with about every 
warrior after it. It was Slim who finally fell on 
it on his own eight yards. 

Goodwin, standing astride the goal-line, punted 
on first down, but the ball went high and short, 
passing out of bounds at the twenty-six, and from 
there Mt. Millard started again with unabated de¬ 
termination. Greenwood was replaced by Good¬ 
win. A forward-pass made a scant seven yards 


144 


RIGHT GUARD GRANT 


for the besiegers. Then, from wide-open for¬ 
mation, came another. This time three backs 
handled the pigskin before it was finally thrown. 
It would have scored a touchdown had it been 
caught, but there were two Alton men on the 
spot, and the Mt. Millard end had no chance. 
Then the enemy hustled into kick-formation and 
Alton breathed a sigh of relief. Even if the 
enemy secured another field-goal the game would 
still be Alton’s. Perhaps Mt. Millard had that 
knowledge in mind, for she didn’t kick, after all. 
Standing back near the twenty-five-yard streak, 
Quarterback Marsh poised the ball in the palm 
of his hand, a tiny motionless figure amidst a 
maelstrom of rushing forms. Cries of warning 
filled the air. Marsh, as if unaware of the enemy 
plunging down on him, surveyed the field. Then, 
just as Billy Wells bore down with arms up- 
stretched, Marsh side-stepped easily and threw to 
where, beyond the goal-line, a Mt. Millard end 
was wheeling into position. Scarcely above the 
finger-tips of the leaping Alton players sped the 
oval, fast and straight. The Mt. Millard end ran 
forward a step, poised for the catch. And then 
Nemesis in the shape of Slim Staples took a hand. 
Slim, crashing off a goal-post, staggered into the 
path of the ball, leaped upward and closed his 
hands about it. Then he went down into a sea 
of massing players and a whistle blew shrilly. 


YICTOEY HAED WON 145 

The game was over and Alton had won it, 7 to 3. 
Mt. Millard had staked all on that final play and 
lost, but there was more honor accruing from that 
heroic attempt than would have been hers had she 
secured that field-goal. Defeated but far from 
disheartened, the tiny quarterback summoned his 
teammates and cheered heartily if hoarsely for 
the victors. And Alton, returning the cheer with 
no more breath than the losers, paid homage to 
a gallant foe. 

Slim emerged from that contest something of 
a hero and with his right and title to the left end 
position unassailable. Smedley emerged less for¬ 
tunately, for he had wrenched a knee so badly 
that his future use to the team was more than 
doubtful. There were many other injuries, but 
none serious. Alton was joyous over having at 
last won a game from the enemy, but by the next 
day she was weighing the pros and cons and un¬ 
willingly reaching the conclusion that, on the 
whole, the Gray-and-Gold had a long way to go 
before she would be in position to face Kenly 
Hall with better than a one to two chance of win¬ 
ning. There were plenty who stated emphatically 
that Mt. Millard should have had that game, bas¬ 
ing their contention on the more varied and bril¬ 
liant attack of the visitor. But there were plenty 
of others who stoutly held that the better team 
had won, just as the better team does win ninety- 


146 


EIGHT GUAED GEANT 


nine times in a hundred, and that even allowing 
Mt. Millard less weight and a far more dazzling 
and puzzling offense Alton had been there with 
the good old straight football stuff that wins 
games. That Mr. Cade was satisfied with the 
team’s showing is very'doubtful, but then coaches 
are like that. They never are satisfied quite. 
Johnny didn’t say anything to lead any one to 
think he was not content. That was the trouble. 
He said too little. Those veterans who knew him 
well understood perfectly that Johnny Cade was 
not mentally shaking hands with himself ! 


CHAPTER Xm 

AN EVENING CALL 

That evening Slim, with his hand prettily painted 
with iodine, had an engagement that excluded 
Leonard, and the latter, having no liking for a 
Saturday evening alone, called up Johnny Mc¬ 
Grath on the telephone, found that that youth was 
to be at home and then walked over to 102 Mel¬ 
rose avenue. 

Not only Johnny, hut most of Johnny’s family 
was at home, and Leonard was introduced to 
Mrs. McGrath and Mr. McGrath and young Cul¬ 
len; Johnny’s elder brother was married and 
lived elsewhere. Leonard liked Mr. and Mrs. 
McGrath instantly. They were just what they 
seemed—and vice versa—a thoroughly nice, 
warm-hearted couple, uncultured but wise and 
shrewd and well-mannered. Perhaps Leonard 
took to them the more readily because they made 
him see at once that they were ready and even 
anxious to like him. Although Leonard couldn’t 
know it, Johnny had spoken frequently of him, 
and any one approved of by Johnny was bound 
to be welcomed by Johnny’s parents. And, an¬ 
other thing that Leonard didn’t know, even if he 

147 


148 RIGHT GUARD GRANT 

suspected it later, very few of Johnny’s school 
acquaintances ever came to his home. 

Leonard wasn’t filled with instant liking for 
Cullen, for the younger brother was at the diffi¬ 
cult age of thirteen and was long of leg and awk¬ 
ward of speech and movement, a freckle-faced 
youngster who, knowing of the visitor’s connec¬ 
tion with the Alton football team, viewed him 
with piercing intentness and at intervals broke 
into the general conversation with startlingly in¬ 
opportune questions. Leonard wasn’t quite at his 
ease until, after a half-hour downstairs, Johnny 
conveyed him up to his room on the third floor, 
sternly forbidding the ready Cullen to follow. 

That room was quite wonderful, Leonard 
thought, comparing it to his own small room at 
home. It was very large, fully twenty feet 
square, with four big windows framed in gay 
cretonne and white muslin, two huge closets and 
book-shelves that went all across one wall. Those 
shelves made a great hit with the visitor. They 
were just elbow-high and they had no pesky glass 
doors in front of them. You could take a book 
out without the least effort, and you could lay it 
on top of the shelves and look at it if you didn’t 
want to carry it to a chair. And that was just 
what Leonard was doing presently. Johnny had 
more books than the caller had ever seen outside 
a public library! And such books, too! A full 


AN EVENING CALL 


149 


set of the best encyclopedia, all sorts of diction¬ 
aries—not only of words, but of places and dates 
and phrases—and all of Stevenson and Dickens, 
and Green’s and Prescott’s histories, and the 
Badminton Library and lots and lots of other 
books in sets or single volumes. Leonard thought 
of his own scanty collection of some two-score 
tomes—many of them reminders of nursery days 
*—and for a moment was very envious. Then envy 
passed, and he silently determined to some day 
have a library as big and complete as Johnny’s. 

The room was plainly furnished, but everything 
in it was designed for both comfort and use, a 
fact that Leonard recognized and that caused him 
to realize for perhaps the first time that with fur¬ 
niture as with everything else real beauty was 
founded on usefulness, was intrinsic and not ex¬ 
ternal. Everything in this room was just what 
it appeared to be. Not a single object mas¬ 
queraded as something else. Leonard liked it all 
enormously and said so emphatically, and Johnny 
was pleased. You could see that. 

“I’m glad you like it,” he answered almost 
gratefully. “Dad let me buy everything myself. 
I could have got stuff that looked a lot—well, a 
lot grander, do you mind; things with carved legs 
and all that sort of flummery; but I sort of like 
plainer things better.” 

Leonard nodded, looking about the big, pleas- 


150 EIGHT GUARD GRANT 

antly lighted apartment. “So do I,” he agreed, 
although five minutes ago, had you asked him, he 
wouldn’t have known! “Some room, McGrath,” 
he went on approvingly. “And there’s a light 
just about everywhere, isn’t there?” 

It did seem so. There was a plain brass 
standard by the wicker couch, two smaller hood- 
shaded lights atop the book-shelves, a hanging 
bulb over the broad chiffonier, a squat lamp on 
the big, round table and a funny little blue enam¬ 
eled affair on the stand by the head of the bed. 
Only the table lamp was lighted, but the soft glow 
radiated to every corner of the room. Leonard’s 
gaze went back to the many shelves opposite. 

“Did you buy all those books yourself?” he 
asked. 

“Oh, no, only maybe a third of them. The folks 
gave me the others. They know I’m fond of them. 
Joe always gives me books at Christmas and my 
birthday.” He saw the unuttered question in 
Leonard’s face and smiled as he added: “They 
always ask me what I want, though, first.” 

Leonard got up then and prowled. He looked 
at the four pictures in plain dark-oak frames: 
“The Retreat from Moscow”; a quaint print of 
an elderly man standing before a second-hand 
bookstall on a Paris quay holding a huge um¬ 
brella overhead while, with one volume tucked 
under an arm, he peered near-sightedly into a 



AN EVENING CALL 


151 

second; a photograph of Hadrian’s Tomb and a 
Dutch etching of a whirling windmill, with bent 
sedges about a little pool and an old woman bend¬ 
ing against the wind. 

“I like that one a lot,” explained Johnny. 
“Can’t you just see—no, I mean feel the wind? 
I’d like to go to Holland some day. It must be 
fine, I’m thinking.” 

Leonard had a go at the books next, Johnny 
pulling forth his special treasures for him. After 
awhile they sat down again and talked, and when, 
as was to be expected, football came up for dis¬ 
cussion, the discussion became animated. Al¬ 
though Johnny didn’t play, he was a keen critic 
—and a fearless one. “There’s two or three fel¬ 
lows on the team,” he declared after the day’s 
contest had been gone over, “that would be better 
for a vacation, to my mind. Put them on the 
bench for a week, maybe, and they’d come back 
and earn their keep.” 

Leonard wanted to know the names of the gen¬ 
tlemen, but wasn’t sure he ought to ask. Johnny 
supplied them, however, without urging. “It’s 
Smedley and Garrick and that big Renneker I’m 
thinking of,” he explained. “Take Smedley, now, 
sure he’s a good man, but he don’t ever spit on 
his hands and get to work, Grant. It’s the same 
way with the other two, especially Renneker. 
He’s asleep at the switch half the time.” 


152 


RIGHT GUARD GRANT 


“But I thought he played a pretty good game 
to-day,’’ objected Leonard. 

“He did, but what’s a 4 pretty good game’ for 
a fellow who’s made the All-Scholastic?” asked 
Johnny witheringly. “Sure, ’tis no game at all. 
He has the height of a camel and the weight of a 
whale, and does he use either intelligently? He 
does not! I’m no football player, Grant—or 
should I be calling you General?—but I can see 
with half an eye, and that one shut, that the lad 
isn’t earning his salary.” 

“He doesn’t get any,” laughed Leonard. 

“I know, that was a figure of speech,” an¬ 
swered the other. “Though, by the same token, 
I’ll bet he’d take the salary if it was offered.” 

“You mean—” Leonard stopped. Then he 
added: “Slim thinks you maybe made a mistake 
about Renneker that time.” 

“I thought so myself,” responded Johnny. 
“But this afternoon I got Jimsy Carnochan to 
go to the game with me. Mind you, I said no word 
to him about Renneker or Ralston or any one 
else. I just wanted to see would he notice any¬ 
thing. Well, in the third quarter, when the play 
was close to where we were sitting, Jimsy said 
to me, ‘Who’s the big fellow there playing right 
guard?’ ‘On which team?’ I asked him. ‘On 
Alton.’ ‘His name’s Gordon Renneker.’ ‘Like 
fun,’ said Jimsy. ‘If it is my name’s Napoleon 


AN EVENING CALL 153 

Bonaparte! Don’t you mind the fellow that 
played first base in New Haven last summer for 
the Maple Leaf team? I’ve forgotten his name, 
but ’twill come to me.’ ‘Ralston, do you mean?’ 
I asked him. ‘Ralston! That’s the guy! What’s 
he calling himself out of his name for now?’ 
‘Sure,’ I said, ‘you’re mistaken. There’s a simi¬ 
larity, I’ll acknowledge, but this fellow is Gor¬ 
don Renneker, a fine lad that got placed on the 
All-Scholastic Team last year.’ ‘Maybe he was 
placed on it, whatever it is,’ said Jimsy, ‘and he’s 
likewise placed in my memory, for the big piece 
of cheese caught me with my foot off the bag, 
and I’m not forgetting any guy that does that!’ 
Well, I told him that he couldn’t be certain, see¬ 
ing that you’re always reading about people that 
look so much alike their own mothers can’t tell 
them apart, maybe; and I minded him of a 
moving picture play that was here no longer ago 
; than last August where one man takes another 
man’s place in Parliament and no one knows any 
different. And finally I said to him: ‘Whatever 
you may be thinking, Jimsy, keep it to yourself, 
for if it turned out that you were mistaken you’d 
feel mighty small, what with getting an innocent 
fellow into trouble.’ So there’s no fear of Jimsy 
talking, General.” 

Leonard looked perplexed. ‘ 4 It’s awfully 

funny,” he said finally. “Renneker isn’t at all 


154 


EIGHT GUAED GEANT 


the sort of fellow you’d think to find playing base¬ 
ball for money. Look at the clothes he wears, 
and—and the impression he gives you. Why, he 
must have plenty of money, McGrath.” 

“You’d think so. Still, I mind the time when 
I had all the good clothes I could get on my back 
and would have been glad of the chance of picking 
up a bit of money. Although,” added Johnny, 
“I don’t think I’d change my name to do it.” 

“Well,” said Leonard, shaking his head in 
puzzlement, “I can’t get it. What’s troubling 
me, though, is this. Knowing what we do—or 
suspecting it, rather—ought we to tell some one? 
I mean Coach Cade or Eus Emerson or faculty.” 

“I’m wondering that myself,” said Johnny, 
frowning. “Maybe it’s no business of mine, 
though, for I’m not connected with football—” 
“What difference does that make?” Leonard 
demanded. “You’re an Alton fellow, aren’t you? 
If what you suspect about Gordon Eenneker is 
true he ought not to be allowed to. play for Alton, 
and as an Alton student—” 

“Sure, that’s true enough,” agreed Johnny 
ruefully. “I was fearing you’d say that. I’ve 
said it to myself already.” He grinned across 
at his guest. After a moment he continued: 
“There’s this about it, though, General. I’ve no 
proof, no real proof, I mean. Like I told Jimsy 


155 


AN EVENING CALL 

Carnochan, it might be I was mislead by one of 
those strange resemblances that yon read of.” 

“Yes,” answered Leonard without conviction. 
“You might be. I guess you’ll just have to do 
as you think best.” 

Johnny’s eyes twinkled. “Sure, and how about 
you?” he asked innocently. 

“Me?” 

“Yes, for I’ve told you all there is to be told. 
How about you speaking of it to the coach or 
some one?” 

“Gee, I couldn’t!” Leonard protested. “I’m 
playing on the team, or, anyway, the squad, and 
it wouldn’t look very well for me to—to prefer 
charges against another member, now would it ? ” 

Johnny laughed merrily. “I can’t do it because 
I’m not on the team, and you can’t do it because 
you are!” Then he sobered. “We’ll leave it as 
it is,” he decided. “I want to do what’s right, 
but I don’t know that it would be right to accuse 
Eenneker of this with no real proof to back up 
the charge with. Besides, if he plays no better 
game than he’s been playing, ’twill work no in¬ 
justice to the teams we meet, for, with him out 
of it, the coach might put in a fellow that would 
be a sight better.” 

“Do you think I’d better say anything to Slim 
about what happened to-day?” asked Leonard. 


156 RIGHT GUARD GRANT 

“I wouldn’t,’’ said Johnny dryly. “ ’Twould 
only worry him. Slim’s all for sticking his head 
in the sand, like an ostrich, and there’s no call 
to be twitching his tail-feathers!” 

Leonard had to laugh at that, and no more was 
said on the subject that evening. In fact, the 
evening was about gone. At the front door, 
Johnny, bidding the caller “Good night,” added 
a bit wistfully: “ ’Twas fine of you to come and 
see me, Grant, and I appreciate it. I’d be liking 
it if you’d come again some time.” 

“Why, I liked it myself,” laughed Leonard 
from the steps. “And I surely will come again. 
And, say, why don’t you ever come and see Slim 
and me?” 

“Well, I don’t know,” answered Johnny. 
“Maybe I might some time.” 

“I wish you would,” Leonard assured him. 
“We’re almost always at home evenings.” 

Going on down the hill, Leonard reflected that 
the probable reason why Johnny had never called 
at Number 12 Haylow was that he had never been 
asked. 

» 

The doors were still open when Leonard 
reached Haylow, but ten o’clock struck just as 
he was climbing the stairs. In Number 12 the 
light was burning and in the bed at the left Slim 
was fast asleep, a magazine spread open across 
his chest. Leonard set about preparing for 


AN EVENING CALL 157 

slumber with stealthy movements. Perhaps he 
need not have taken so much trouble, though, for 
when he inadvertently knocked a French dic¬ 
tionary from the corner of the table and it fell 
with a slam loud enough to make him jump an 
inch oft the floor Slim didn’t even stir. It was 
not until Leonard was in his pajamas that his 
gaze happened on a half-sheet of paper pinned 
squarely in the middle of his pillow. He held it 
to the light and read: 

“If I’m asleep when you return 
Then wake me up, I pray, 

For there is something that I yearn 
2 you 2 night 2 say.” 

Leonard smiled and turned doubtfully toward 
the sleeper. It seemed too bad to awaken him. 
Whatever it was that he had to tell could doubt¬ 
less wait for morning. Still, Slim never had any 
trouble getting to sleep, and so— 

‘‘Wake up, Slim!” Leonard shook him gently. 
Slim slumbered on. “Slim! Here, snap out of it! 
Hi, Slim!” Slim muttered and strove to slip away 
from the rough, disturbing grasp. “No, you 
don’t! You wanted to be waked up, and I’m 
going—” shake —“to wake you up”—shake—“if 
it takes all night!” Slim opened his eyes half 
an inch and observed Leonard with mild interest. 
Then: 



158 RIGHT GUARD GRANT 

“That you, General V 7 he muttered. 

“Yes.” 

“Good night.” 

“Hold on! What was it you wanted to say to 
me, you silly coot?” 

“Huh?” 

“Come awake a minute. You left a note on my 
pillow—something you wanted to say to me— 
remember ? ’ 7 

“Yes,” answered Slim sleepily. 

“Well, say it then!” 

“I did. That was it.” 

“What was it?” 

“ ‘Good night/ ” 

Slim turned his back and pulled the clothes up 
over his ears. 


CHAPTER XIV 

ME. CADE MAKES AN ENTRY 

The next afternoon when Leonard clumped down 
the steps of the gymnasium clad for practice a 
gust of cold air swept around the corner from 
the north-west and reminded him that November 
was two days old. The sky was gray and clouds 
sailed low overhead. Fallen leaves played prank- 
ishly along the walks and eddied into quiet har¬ 
bors about the buildings. After the warm, moist 
air of the locker room the outdoor world felt chill 
indeed, and Leonard, trudging briskly toward the 
gridiron, rolled his hands in the edge of his old 
sweater. It was a day, though, that made the 
blood move fast and called for action. Leonard, 
to use his own phrase, felt full of “pep.” They 
couldn’t work a fellow too hard or too fast on 
such an afternoon. 

Practice went off at a new gait, and when, rou¬ 
tine work over, those who had played through 
Saturday’s game were released and Mr. Fad- 
den’s charges romped over from the second team 
gridiron, every one knew that fur was going to 
fly. And fly it did. A fellow had to work and 
keep on working just to be comfortably warm, but 

159 


160 


EIGHT GUAED GEANT 


besides that there was a quality in the harshly 
chill wind that would have made an oyster ambi¬ 
tious and put speed into a snail. The second 
started in with lots of ginger and smeared up 
Carpenter’s run-back of the kick-off, and after 
that held the first and made her punt from her 
twenty-two yards. After that it was hammer- 
and-tongs, the rival coaches barking out directions 
and criticisms and hopping about on the edge of 
the scrap in the most absorbed way. If every 
one hadn’t been too much interested with the bat¬ 
tle the spectacle of Mr. Fadden hopping might 
have occasioned amusement! 

The first presented a line-up of substitutes, 
with Gurley and Kerrison playing end, Lawrence 
and Cash tackle, Squibbs and Falls guard, Muller 
center, Carpenter quarter, Kendall and Goodwin 
half and Dakin full. Leonard, huddled in a 
blanket on the bench, forgot the cold in the cheer¬ 
ing knowledge that sooner or later Johnny Cade 
would be sure to call on him. Johnny Cade did, 
but not until the second period. Meanwhile 
Lawrence and Cash took plenty of punishment 
from the cocky scrubs but managed to hold out. 
Second was certainly on her toes this afternoon, 
and nothing the first could do prevented her from 
scoring. It was only a field-goal, for the first, 
pushed down the field to her twenty-yard line, 
held gamely through three downs, but it meant 


MR. CADE MAKES AN ENTRY 161 

three points for the scrubs and much exulting. 
With a strong wind almost behind him, the sec¬ 
ond’s left half could hardly have failed to boot 
the pigskin over. j 

First wrested the ball away from second a 
minute or so later and started a march toward 
the opponent’s goal. Kendall got away with a 
nice run of a dozen yards, and Dakin twice got 
half that distance through left guard. Goodwin 
plugged hard, but it was not his day. Carpenter 
tried a quarterback run and made it good for 
eight yards, placing the ball on second’s twenty- 
four. Kendall went back and faked a try-at-goal, 
taking the pigskin on a wide end run that netted 
him little but exercise. Then a forward-pass was 
tried, but, short as it was, the wind bore it down, 
and first was lucky not to lose possession of it. 
With two downs left, Kendall again threatened a 
field-goal, but passed the ball to Dakin, and the 
full-back smashed through the enemy left for 
four. On the same play Dakin added enough to 
make it first down on the fourteen. Then, with 
first already tasting success, the whistle ended the 
period! 

The scrubs crossed the field to sit in a closely 
huddled group like a lot of blanketed Indians and 
Leonard watched Mr. Cade hopefully. But when 
the second period started the coach made but two 
changes in his line-up. Raleigh went in at right 


162 RIGHT GUARD GRANT 

guard and Wilde at right tackle. Leonard, dis¬ 
appointed, looked searchingly up and down the 
bench. So far as he knew he was the only tackle 
remaining. In fact, only less than a dozen fellows 
were left now, and he didn’t think there was a 
lineman among them. He didn’t wish Lawrence 
any bad luck, but it did seem that he had played 
about long enough! 

First had a streak of luck right at the start of 
that period, for a second team back fumbled on 
his forty-four and, although second recovered the 
ball, the next line-up was close to the twenty-five- 
yard line. Two punches and then a punt into the 
gale that carried a scant twenty yards, and the 
ball was first’s in scrub territory. The first attack 
sent Goodwin at the enemy’s center for a two- 
yard gain and when the warriors had disentangled 
themselves one form remained on the ground. 
Jake seized water bottle and sponge and trotted 
out. “That’s Raleigh,” said the fellow at Leon¬ 
ard’s right. 

‘ ‘ Sure ? ’ ’ asked Leonard anxiously. ‘‘ I thought 
maybe it was Lawrence. No, there’s Lawrence. 
You a guard?” 

The neighbor shook his head sadly. “Half,” 
he answered. 

They had Raleigh standing up now and Jake 
was leading him toward the bench. Coach Cade’s 
voice came imperatively. 




MR. CADE MAKES AN ENTRY! 163 

“First team guard!” lie called. 

The trainer echoed the summons impatiently as 
he neared the bench. “Come on, one of you 
guards!’ ’ 

Leonard threw off his blanket and bent mutely 
to the neighbor and the substitute halfback 
seized his sweater while Leonard pulled himself 
out of it. Then he dashed onto the gridiron. 
Jake was a dozen feet away, still supporting the 
scowling Raleigh. 

“What’s the matter!” he asked. “Deaf! 
Didn’t you hear the coach yelling!” Then he 
stared harder, at Leonard’s back now, and called 
suddenly: “Here! You ain’t a guard!” 

But Leonard paid no heed. Perhaps the wind 
bore the words away from him. He went on, 
aware, as he gained the waiting squad, of the 
coach’s puzzled gaze. 

“I called for a guard, Grant,” said Mr. Cade. 

“Yes, sir,” answered Leonard. “I’ve played 
guard two seasons.” 

“Maybe, but you’re not a guard now. Send 
some one else on. Isn’t there any one there!” 

“No, sir.” 

Mr. Cade shrugged. “All right. You take it 
then. You deserve it, I’m blessed if you don’t! 
Come on now, First Team! Let’s get going! All 
right, Quarter!” 

Leonard stepped in between Garrick and Cash, 



164 EIGHT GUAED GEANT 

Carpenter chanted his signal and the lines ground 
together. Why, this was easy, reflected Leonard. 
It was just like old times. He knew what to do 
here. When you were a guard you were a guard 
and nothing else. You didn’t have to understudy 
your next door neighbor and go prancing around 
like a silly end! Of course, when a shift took you 
around to the other side of the line, as it was 
doing now— 

Leonard whanged into an opponent and tipped 
him neatly aside as Kendall came spinning 
through. Three yards, easy. Maybe four. This 
was “pie!” He got back to his place again and 
grinned at his second team adversary. The scrub 
player answered the grin with a malignant scowl. 
Leonard laughed to himself. He always liked the 
other fellow to get good and peeved; that made 
it easier. Dakin was stopped short on the next 
play and Kendall went back. A second team back 
tried to sneak inside of Leonard, and Leonard 
gave him a welcoming shoulder. Then there was 
the thud of the ball and he pushed an adversary 
aside and sped down the field, the gale behind him 
helping him on. He was under the ball all the 
way and was hard by when Kerrison upset the 
scrub quarter for no gain. The pigskin was on 
the second’s fourteen now, and the second real¬ 
ized its difficulties. Kicking into that wind was 
a thankless job. If you kicked low your ends 







MR. CADE MAKES AN ENTRY 165 

couldn’t cover the punt. If you kicked high you 
made no distance. Even a forward-pass, were 
you rash enough to attempt it under your own 
goal-posts, was doubly risky. So second tried 
hard to get a half-back around an end, first at 
Gurley’s post and then at Kerrison’s, and made 
but four yards altogether. It seemed then that 
second must punt, but she had one more trick up 
her sleeve. She sent an end far out to the left, 
shifted to the right and sent the full-back straight 
ahead. Well, that wasn’t so bad, for it added 
another four yards to her total. But it was fourth 
down, and the wind still blew hard against her, 
and punt she must at last. So punt she tried to. 

That she didn’t was primarily due to the ease 
with which Leonard disposed of his man and went 
romping through the scrub line, quite alone for 
the instant. A half met him, and the impact, since 
Leonard had his hands thrown high, almost drove 
the breath from his body. Yet the damage was 
done, for the second team kicker was too hurried 
to punt. Instead, he tucked the ball to his elbow 
and shot off to the right in a desperate attempt 
to circle the first team’s end. But there was 
Gurley to be considered, and Gurley dropped his 
man very expeditiously and neatly for a six-yard 
loss. Whereupon first took the ball, lined up on 
the scrub’s sixteen and hammered Goodwin and 
Dakin over for the score. 



166 


RIGHT GUARD GRANT 


Then Kendall booted a nice goal and made it 
seven points, and going back np the field Car¬ 
penter and Dakin and half a dozen others whacked 
Leonard on the back and pantingly told him that 
he was ‘ 1 all right, ’ ’ or words to that effect. Then 
first kicked off again and went after another 
touchdown. You might criticize the second’s 
science, but you had to acknowledge that when it 
came to fight she was right on hand! Second 
didn’t hold with Mr. Cade or Quarterback Car¬ 
penter when they assured the first that there was 
another score to be had. Second denied it loudly 
and with ridicule. She dared first to try to get 
another score. First accepted the challenge with 
ejaculations of derision and the trouble began 
again. 

You mustn’t think that Leonard played through 
some ten minutes without receiving his share of 
censure from the coach and the quarterback, for 
nothing like that happened. Mr. Cade showed 
little partiality, and every one came in for criti¬ 
cism or rebuke. What Carpenter said worried 
Leonard very little. Quarterbacks are always 
nagging a fellow. But he did wish, toward the 
last, that Mr. Cade would stop barking at him. 
Of course he knew that he didn’t play the position 
perfectly, but he was doing his best, gosh ding 
it, and no one was making any gains through 






MR. CADE MAKES AN ENTRY 167 

him! If only he was a little bigger and had more 
beef he’d show Johnny some real playing! 

As it was, though, he was doing so well that the 
coach was secretly marvelling. Mr. Cade viewed 
Leonard’s height and his none too broad shoul¬ 
ders and then glanced at the big Garrick on one 
side and the rangy Cash on the other and won¬ 
dered. “When,” reflected the coach, “he told 
me he was a guard he knew what he was talking 
about!” Much of Leonard’s success this after¬ 
noon was due to following Billy Wells’ advice. 
Leonard looked his man in the eye and discovered 
that, in some strange fashion, he could tell what 
the chap was going to do a fraction of a second 
before he started to do it. It was almost like 
mind-reading, Leonard thought. And he profited, 
too, by the other tips that Billy had given him. 
He couldn’t adopt Billy’s stance thoroughly, but 
he did try a modified form of it and found that it 
gave him a quicker start. And to-day no one 
drove his head back and made him see whole con¬ 
stellations of wonderful stars! No, sir, the old 
chin was right in against the neck! 

First didn’t succeed in scoring again, but she 
did throw a scare into the adversary in the final 
minute of play. By that time Leonard’s original 
opponent had been replaced by a fresher but, as 
it was soon proved, no more formidable youth, 








168 


RIGHT GUARD GRANT 


and Mr. Fadden had made other substitutions in 
his array of talent. So, too, had Mr. Cade, al¬ 
though the latter’s resources were nearly ex¬ 
hausted. Cruikshank went in for Carpenter, and 
a new half-back appeared. Cruikshank brought 
a little more “pep” to the first, and she got the 
pigskin down to second’s twenty-eight yards. 
There, however, the enemy stiffened and tight¬ 
ened and took the ball away on downs. Wisely, 
she elected to punt on first down, but there was 
a poor pass, and the ball was missed entirely by 
the kicker. It hit him somewhere around the feet 
and bounded to one side. Instantly twenty-two 
youths made for it. Some four or five reached 
it more or less simultaneously. Of the number was 
the first team right guard. How that happened 
was a subject of official investigation later by Mr. 
Fadden. However, the second team’s troubles 
are not ours. What interests us is the fact that 
not only was Leonard the first man through the 
second team line but he was the first man to lay 
hand on the ball. He accomplished the latter feat 
by diving between two hesitant adversaries and, 
being doubtless favored by luck, capturing the 
erratic pigskin during one brief instant of quies¬ 
cence. A fraction of a second later that ball 
would have toppled this way or that, or jumped 
into the air, eluding Leonard’s grasp just as it 
had eluded others’, but at the instant it had pre- 



MR. CADE MAKES AN ENTRY 169 

sumably paused for breath. Anyhow, Leonard 
reached it and pulled it under him and tucked his 
head out of the way. Then half a dozen of the 
opponents sat on him more or less violently or 
tried to get covetous hands on the prize. The 
whistle blew and finally he breathed again. Hav¬ 
ing been pulled to his feet, his breathing was 
again disturbed by emphatic blows on his back 
or shoulders accompanied by brief but hearty 
expression of commendation. He was still fight¬ 
ing for breath when Cruikshank piped his signal, 
and Dakin drove harmlessly into the second team 
line. Then, to the intense disgust of the first and 
the vast relief of the second, with the ball on the 
seventeen yards and a score as sure as shooting, 
some idiot blew a whistle! 

There was almost a scrap about that. Up in 
the locker room Dakin accused Winship, the as¬ 
sistant manager who had acted as timekeeper, of 
having cheated the first of a score. “Time,” 
answered Winship coldly, “was up when the 
whistle blew.” “Yah,” responded Dakin impo¬ 
litely. “You’re crazy! You didn’t see straight! 
Bet you there was a good thirty seconds left!” 
“There was not! If anything, you had a second 
more than was coming to you, for the whistle 
didn’t blow until I’d called to Tenney twice. No 
use being sore at me, Dakin. Much better have 
done something when you had the ball that time!” 


170 RIGHT GUARD GRANT 

“Is that so?” snarled the full-back. “How’d I 
know you were going to cheat us out of—” 
“Don’t you say I cheated!” “Well, what do you 
call it, you fathead? Step up to the gym with 
me if you’re looking for trouble!” 

But some of the others stepped in just there, 
and hostilities were prevented, and somewhat 
later Dakin, having been cooled by an icy shower- 
bath, apologized handsomely and the entente 
cordiale was reestablished. 

That evening, his briar pipe drawing nicely and 
his feet comfortably elevated, Coach Cade turned 
the pages of his little memorandum book and 
made marks here and there. Once he reversed 
his pencil and, using the rubber-tipped end of it, 
expunged a name entirely. The last thing he did 
was to draw a black mark through the words 
“Grant, Leonard” and through half a dozen 
mysterious hieroglyphics that followed them and 
then, turning a page, enter the same words again 
very carefully in his small characters. At the top 
of the latter page was the inscription “Guards.” 


CHAPTER XV 


A TIP FROM MC GRATH 

Leonard regretted that Slim hadn’t been at the 
field during scrimmage that afternoon, for he 
wanted Slim to know that he had—well, done not 
so badly. All he told the other, though, when they 
met before supper was that Johnny had run out 
of guards and that he had played at right for 
awhile. 

“Guard!” said Slim in surprise. “You mean 
Johnny stood for it?” Slim frowned. “Look 
here, General, let me give you a word of advice. 
You never get anywhere by changing jobs. You 
stick to being a tackle. The next time Johnny 
wants to shift you to some other position you put 
your foot down.” 

“It wasn’t Johnny did it, Slim. They yelled 
for a guard and I ran on.” 

“More fool you, son. You’ve got to specialize, 
or you’ll just sit on the bench forever and ever. 
The fellow that does a little of everything never 
does much of anything, as some one once very 
wisely remarked. How did you get along?” 

“All right,” answered Leonard. “It was 

171 


172 RIGHT GUARD GRANT 

easier than tackle, Slim. I—I was more at home 
there, I suppose.’’ 

“Huh,” grumbled Slim, “don’t get to looking 
for the easy jobs, General. You stay put, young 
feller. Why, only a couple of days ago Billy 
Wells was telling me what a wonderful tackle 
you’d make!” 

“Wells was?” exclaimed Leonard. “Get out, 
Slim!”. 

“He was, honest to goodness! WTiy, Billy’s 
a—a great admirer of yours, General. He said 
more nice things about your playing than I ever 
heard him say about any fellow’s—not excepting 
his own! And now you go and let them make a 
goat of you. Too bad, son.” 

“We-ell, I’ve half a notion that Johnny will 
let me play guard after this,” said Leonard. It 
was more a hope than a notion, though. Slim 
shook his head doubtfully. 

“I wouldn’t bank on it,” he said. “You know, 
General, you aren’t quite built for a guard.” 

After supper—Slim had been eating at training 
table for a long while now—Leonard was leaning 
over a Latin book in Number 12 when the door 
opened violently and things began to happen to 
him. First he was precipitated backward until 
his head touched the floor and his feet gyrated 
in air. Then he was sat on while rude hands 
tweaked his nose and the lately occupied chair 


A TIP FROM McGRATH 


173 


entangled his feet. About that time Leonard 
began to resent the treatment and got a firm hold 
on Slim’s hair. But Slim wouldn’t have that. 

“No, General,” he announced firmly. “Be 
quiet and take your medicine. You are being dis¬ 
ciplined, son. This isn’t a mere vulgar brawl. 
This is for the good of your poor little shriveled 
soul. ’ ’ 

“Well, let up on my nose then, you crazy idiot! 
What am I being disciplined for! And get oft 
my tummy a minute so I can kick that blamed 
chair out of the way!” 

“Don’t vent your spleen on the poor inanimate 
chair,” remonstrated Slim reproachfully. “It 
never did anything to you, you deceiving goof. 
Look at me! In the eye—I mean eyes! Why 
didn’t you tell me what happened this after¬ 
noon?” 

“I did.” 

‘ ‘ General! ’ ’ 

11 Ouch! Quit, you—you crazy— ’ ’ 

“Why didn’t you tell me all? Look at me, con- 
sarn yer!” 

4 ‘ I am, Slim! Doggone it, will you quit ? ” 

“Stop struggling! General, you’ve got to come 
clean. Did you or didn’t you deceive me?” 

“I did not.” 

“General, you did. Since then I have learned 
the truth. You went and made yourself one of 



174 RIGHT GUARD GRANT 

these here football heroes, yon did, General. 
Broke through—no, crashed through the enemy 
line and fell on the fumbled ball, thus bringing 
victory to your beloved Alma Mater! Not once, 
but twice did you do this thing. I know all, and 
lying won’t help you any longer. Confess, drat 
your pesky hide! Did you or isn’t they?” 

‘‘They is!” groaned Leonard. “For the love 
of Mike, Slim, get off my supper! ’ ’ 

Slim removed himself, and Leonard struggled 
out of the clutches of the chair and got to his 
feet. “For two cents,” he said, “I’d lay you 
over that blamed chair and paddle you, Slim.” 

“No, you wouldn’t, son. You know very well 
that you deserved all you got, and a little bit 
more. You deceived me, me your friend! You—” 
“Oh, dry up,” laughed Leonard. “What did 
you expect me to do? Tell you how good I was? 
Those second team fellows that played against me 
were dead easy, Slim. A child could have got 
through those chaps. Why, you could yourself, 
Slim! Well, I won’t go that far, but—” 

“I pay no heed to your insults, you gallery- 
player ! ’ ’ 

“Shut up! There wasn’t any gallery to-day. It 
was too cold.” 

“Gallery enough. Fellows at table spent about 
half the time talking about you and your stunts. 
And I had to make believe I knew all about it and 


A TIP FROM McGRATH 


175 


keep nosing around for clews. Not for worlds 
would I have confessed that I knew naught of 
which they spake. Fancy my position! Me who 
raised you from a cradle! Aren’t you ashamed 
of yourself!” 

“Awfully,” said Leonard. “Now will you dry 
up and let me get this Latin!” 

“I will not. Say, General, I wish you’d set to 
work and get Renneker’s job away from him.” 

“That’s likely,” scoffed Leonard. “What you 
got against Renneker!” 

“Nothing. Only—” Slim sobered, and after 
a moment’s pause continued: “Only that yarn of 
Johnny McGrath’s makes me sort of wonder 
whether—well, if Renneker wasn’t on the team, 
General, there wouldn’t be anything to worry 
about! ’ ’ 

“I thought you’d decided that there wasn’t 
anything in that idea of McGrath’s.” 

“So I had. I’m still that way. Only—well, I 
wish some one would find out the truth of it. Or 
you’d beat him out for the place!” 

“I’ve got a fine chance, Slim! Look here, if 
you think there’s a chance that McGrath isn’t 
mistaken why don’t you ask Renneker about 
it!” 

Slim shrugged. “It isn’t my funeral. Besides, 
what’s to prevent him from lying!” 

Leonard shook his head. “I don’t believe he 


176 EIGHT GUAED GEANT 

would, Slim. He doesn’t seem that sort, you 
know. ’ ’ 

“No,” agreed Slim, grudgingly, “he doesn’t. 
Oh, well, I should worry. Gee, I’ve got enough 
to attend to without turning reformer. There’s 
the class dinner Saturday, and Cash tells me only 
about half the hunch have paid up so far. By the 
way, have you heard anything?” 

“Not a thing,” replied Leonard. 

“Guess you haven’t tried very hard,” grum¬ 
bled the other. “I’d like to know what the 
freshies are up to. They’ve got something 
planned. You can see that by the knowing look 
of ’em. Some fool stunt the juniors have put 
’em up to, I’ll wager. Well—” 

Slim relapsed into thoughtful silence, and Leon¬ 
ard edged his chair back to the table. After a 
minute he asked: “That all?” 

“Huh?” inquired Slim absently. 

“If you’re quite through I’ll have another go 
at this Latin,” said Leonard politely. “But of 
course if there’s anything else on your mind—” 

“Go to the dickens,” growled Slim. 

On Tuesday the first-string players returned to 
a full diet of work and, excepting Smedley, now 
pronounced out of football for the season, all the 
guard candidates were on hand when the scrim¬ 
mage started. Nevertheless Leonard displaced 
Eenneker in the second period and Ealeigh went 


A TIP FEOM McGRATH 177 

in at left guard, relieving Stimson. Billy Wells 
greeted Leonard heartily with a playful poke in 
the ribs and, “Well, here’s the General! See 
who’s with us, Jim!” Jim Newton turned and 
grinned. “Hello, sonny,” he said. “You get 
behind me and they won’t hurt you.” Leonard, 
almost painfully aware of the difference in size 
between him and the big center, smiled apolo¬ 
getically. ‘ 4 Thanks, ’ ’ he answered, ‘ ‘ I will if you 
happen to be on your feet.” Billy yelped glee¬ 
fully, and Jim’s grin broadened. “You win, 
young feller,” he said. 

Leonard didn’t break through to-day and cap¬ 
ture a fumbled ball, but he did more than handle 
his opponent and very early in the second period 
the scrubs discovered that the right of the first 
team line was a particularly poor place at which 
to direct attack. Leonard and Wells worked to¬ 
gether very nicely. Just before the end, much to 
his disgust, he was forced to yield his place to 
Falls, and he and Raleigh, also relieved, made 
their way back to the gymnasium together. Ra¬ 
leigh was an excellent example of the player who 
is able to progress just so far and then stands 
still, in spite of all that coaches can do. He had 
been a second-string guard last year and had, 
early in the present season, been picked as a cer¬ 
tainty. Renneker’s advent, however, had spoiled 
his chance, and since then Raleigh seemed to have 


178 RIGHT GUARD GRANT 

lost his grip. Just now he was not so much stand¬ 
ing still as he was sliding backward. He con¬ 
fided something of this to Leonard on the way 
across to the gymnasium. 

“I don’t suppose I’ll even get a smell of the 
big game,” he said sorrowfully. “Renneker’ll 
play at right and Stimson at left, and you and 
Falls will be next choice. It was that big guy 
that queered my chances.” 

Leonard didn’t have to ask who was meant. 
Instead he said comfortingly: “You can’t tell, 
Raleigh. You might beat Stimson yet. And 
you’ll surely have it all over me for first sub¬ 
stitute.” 

But Raleigh shook his head. “Not a chance, 
Grant. I know a real player when I see him, even 
if I’m getting to be a dub myself. You’re a live- 
wire. I wouldn’t be surprised if you got Stim¬ 
son’s job before the Kenly game.” 

“Me? Much obliged for the compliment, Ra¬ 
leigh, but I guess Stimson isn’t frightened much! 
I haven’t got the weight, you know.” 

“You don’t seem to need it,” replied Raleigh 
enviously. “You’ve got speed to burn. Wish I 
had a little of it!” 

The next day Leonard was called to the train¬ 
ing table, where he took his place between Law¬ 
rence and Wilde and where, after his second or 
third repast, he was no longer Grant but “Gen- 


A TIP FROM McGRATH 


179 


eral.” On Wednesday lie discovered with some¬ 
thing of a thrill that Coach Cade was taking him 
seriously as a candidate for a guard position, for 
he was given a hard thirty-minute drill in block¬ 
ing and breaking through in company with Ren- 
neker and Stimson and Raleigh and Falls. Soon 
after that, just when Leonard didn’t know, 
Squibbs disappeared from the football squad. It 
will be remembered, perhaps, that not long before 
Coach Cade had erased a name from a page of 
his little book. 

It was on Thursday evening that Johnny Mc¬ 
Grath appeared at Number 12 Haylow in response 
to Leonard’s invitation. Both Leonard and Slim 
were at home, and Johnny had no cause to doubt 
that he was welcome. The conversation was not 
particularly interesting. Or, at least, it wouldn’t 
sound so if set down here. There was one subject 
not included in the many that were discussed, and 
that was the resemblance of Gordon Renneker to 
George Ralston. Just before he left Johnny said, 
a trifle hesitantly: “By the way, Slim, heard any¬ 
thing about Saturday?” 

“About the dinner, do you mean?” Slim’s eyes 

narrowed. 

“Yes. I wondered if you’d heard any—er— 
any rumors.” Johnny looked very innocent just 
then. Slim shook his head slowly. 

“Nothing much, Johnny. Have you?” 


180 RIGHT GUARD GRANT 

“Why, I don’t know.” Johnny appeared unde¬ 
cided. “You see, I’m a junior, Slim, and maybe I 
oughtn’t to give away any freshman secrets.” 

“Huh,” Slim grumbled, “if it wasn’t for you 
fellows putting ’em up to the mischief—” 

“Sure, I had nothing to do with it,” laughed 
Johnny. “And what I heard didn’t come from 
my crowd. ’Tis just something I accidentally 
came on.” 

“Well, out with it. What are the pesky kids 
up to!” 

“I’m not knowing that, Slim.” 

“Well, what the dickens do you know, you Sinn 
Feiner f ’ ’ 

“All I know,” replied Johnny evasively, as he 
opened the door, “is that if I was President of 
the Sophomore Class I’d be watching out mighty 
sharp come Saturday evening.” Johnny grinned, 
winked meaningly and vanished. 

“Humph,” said Slim. “He does know some¬ 
thing, the silly ass.” He started up as if to go 
after Johnny, but then sat down again and 
shrugged his shoulders. “He wouldn’t tell, I 
suppose.” 

“What do you think he was hinting at?” asked 
Leonard. 

Slim shrugged again. “How the dickens do I 
know? I dare say the freshies have cooked up 
some plot to make me look silly. Maybe they 


181 


A TIP FROM McGRATH 

think they can keep me away from the dinner. 
All right, let them try it!” And Slim looked grim 
as he began to disrobe. 

On Saturday Leonard made his first trip away 
from Alton with the football team, being one of 
twenty-six fellows who journeyed to New Fal¬ 
mouth. Last fall Alton had just managed to de¬ 
feat the clever High School team by one point, 
and to-day the visitors weren’t looking for any 
easy victory. It was well they weren’t, as events 
proved. New Falmouth was too powerful for the 
Gray-and-Gold. With only one more game on her 
schedule, and that against a rival high school of 
smaller calibre, New Falmouth was in position to 
use everything she had in to-day’s contest. And 
she certainly held nothing back. Last season’s 
game, lost to her through her inability to convert 
two touchdowns into goals, had been a disappoint¬ 
ment, and she fully intended to take her revenge. 

Coach Cade started with several substitutes in 
his line-up, but this was not because he held the 
enemy in contempt. His real reason was that he 
hoped to hold New Falmouth scoreless in the first 
half of the game and use his best talent to tuck 
the victory away in the last. But that wasn’t to 
be. . Before the second quarter was half-way 
through Johnny Cade was hurling his best troops 
onto the field in a desperate attempt to turn the 
tide of battle. For by that time New Falmouth 


182 RIGHT GUARD GRANT 

had scored twice and had 10 points to her credit 
on the score-hoard while the visitors had yet to 
show themselves dangerous. 

Leonard didn’t see service until the third pe¬ 
riod. Then he went in at left guard in place of 
the deposed Stimson. The score was still 10 to 0, 
and Alton looked very much like a beaten team. 
New Falmouth had a powerful attack, one that 
was fast and shifty and hit hard. No place in the 
Gray-and-Gold line had proved invulnerable in 
the first two periods, while the home team had 
run the ends with alarming frequency. Only 
Alton’s ability to pull herself together and stand 
firm under her goal had prevented the enemy’s 
score from being doubled. 

Leonard had Jim Newton on one side of him 
and Sam Butler on the other when the second half 
began. He had not played beside Butler before 
and didn’t know the tall youth’s style of game 
as well as he knew Billy Wells’, and for awhile 
the two didn’t work together any too smoothly. 
In fact, the left of the Alton line was no more 
difficult to penetrate than the right until Leonard 
discovered from experience that Butler went 
about his business in a different fashion from 
that used by Billy and began to govern his own 
play accordingly. Butler couldn’t be depended 
on, for one thing, to back up attacks between left 
guard and center. Such plays always pulled him 


A TIP FROM McGRATH 183 

in and left him fairly useless. Also, he played 
too high much of the time, a fact that invited 
more attacks at his position than Leonard ap¬ 
proved of. Yet, when once these facts had been 
learned, Leonard was able to discount them to an 
appreciable extent and before the third period 
was more than half over New Falmouth was less 
attentive to that side of the adversary’s line. 

Leonard knew that he was playing football, and 
extremely hard football, before the third play had 
been made. New Falmouth got the ball on the 
kick-off and started a battering-ram attack that 
bore the enemy back time and again. Leonard 
went through some punishment then, for the first 
three plays were aimed at the Alton left guard 
and tackle. He acquired a bleeding nose in the 
second of them and a bruised knee in the third. 
About that time he got interested and began to 
really fight. Captain Emerson went off with a 
bad limp and Kerrison took his place. Not much 
later Bee Appel, after having been aimed at since 
the game began, was finally downed for good and 
Carpenter took over the running of the team. 
The third period ended without further scoring, 
although the ball had stayed in Alton territory 
most of the time and was still there. 

A penalty for off-side set Alton back another 
five yards nearer her goal just after play was 
resumed, and, when she had been held for two 


184 


RIGHT GUARD GRANT 


downs on the twenty-two yards, New Falmouth 
tried a goal from placement. For once, however, 
the line failed to hold and half the Alton team 
piled through on the kicker and the ball bounded 
off up the field and was captured by Reilly, of 
Alton, on the thirty-six yards. Alton made first 
down on two plunges and a six-yard run by 
Menge. Then, however, after three more at¬ 
tempts, Greenwood punted to the home team’s 
twenty-five, where the ball went outside. New 
Falmouth made two through Renneker and tore 
off five more around Kerrison. A third down was 
wasted on a plunge at center that was repulsed. 
Then New Falmouth tried her third forward-pass 
of the game, and the ball landed nicely in the 
hands of Slim Staples close to the forty-yard 
line, and Slim dodged to the thirty-two before he 
was stopped. 

Here, it seemed, was Alton’s chance to score at 
last, but after Carpenter had attempted a run 
following a delayed pass and had centered the ball 
at the sacrifice of a yard, the chance didn’t look 
so bright. Greenwood made a scant two at the 
New Falmouth left, and then, with nine to go on 
third down, and Greenwood in kicking position, 
Carpenter called for an end-around play with 
Slim Staples carrying. Just what happened 
Leonard didn’t know, but somewhere between Jim 
Newton and Slim the ball got away. Leonard 


A TIP FROM McGRATH 


185 


heard Carpenter’s frantic grunt of “Ball!” and 
swung into the enemy. Then he felt the ball 
trickle against his foot, thrust aside for a moment 
and dropped to a knee. When he got his hands 
on the pigskin the battle was all about him, and 
cries and confusion filled the air. Yet he was able 
to thrust himself up again through the melee, and 
plunge forward, and, having taken that first 
plunge, to go on. He met a back squarely and 
caromed off him into the arms of another, 
broke loose somehow and went forward again. 
The goal-line was startlingly near, and he made 
for it desperately, slanting first to the left and 
then doubling back from a frenzied quarter. He 
and the quarter met and, spinning on a heel, he 
staggered over the line, a New Falmouth man 
astride him as he fell. 

Unfortunately there was no one left on the 
Alton team who could kick a goal once in five 
times, and Joe Greenwood, who tried to add an¬ 
other point to the six, failed dismally. The fault 
wasn’t entirely his, though, for New Falmouth 
broke through and hurried the kick. But even 
to have scored was something, and Leonard, still 
wondering just how it had happened, was ap¬ 
praised of the fact in most emphatic language and 
actions. Over on one side of the field a half¬ 
hundred or so of Alton sympathizers who had 
accompanied the eleven were shouting ecstatically 


186 


EIGHT GUARD GRANT 


and wildly. Denied victory, they made much of 
that touchdown. 

The ball went to New Falmouth for the kick¬ 
off, and Leonard sprang away to repel the in¬ 
vaders. Behind him, Carpenter got the pigskin, 
juggled it and tried to run it back, but two New 
Falmouth ends downed him fiercely. On the 
second play Greenwood got clean away around 
the left end and made it first down on the thirty- 
yard line. Just as he was jubilating hoarsely 
over that Leo Falls came romping on, hailed the 
referee and joyfully slapped Leonard on the 
back. 

“You’re off,” he announced. “Let’s have your 
head-guard. ’ ’ 

Leonard looked unbelievingly at him. “Off?” 
he gasped. “Me?” But the referee was waving 
impatiently, and Leonard pulled off his helmet 
and turned sadly toward the bench. The world 
seemed just then filled with ingratitude and in¬ 
justice, and the cheer that hailed him fell on un¬ 
responsive ears. Jake hurried out to enfold him 
in a blanket, mumbling fine phrases, and Mr. 
Cade said something as Leonard passed to the 
bench, but the day’s hero was not to be salved so 
easily. From the bench he sadly watched the 
game to its end and witnessed, in the closing mo¬ 
ments, the addition of another 3 to New Fal¬ 
mouth’s 10. Life was very dark! 


CHAPTER XVI 


FIRST TRICK TO THE ENEMY 

But time heals all wounds, and long before the 
special trolley had landed the team back at Alton 
Leonard’s spirits were again at normal, or per¬ 
haps a little beyond normal since, in spite of the 
defeat, the Gray-and-Gold had had her big mo¬ 
ments, and he had shared in at least one of them. 
Disappointment had not prevented the other mem¬ 
bers of the squad from giving praise where it was 
deserved, and Leonard had heard a number of 
nice things said. Rus Emerson had been espe¬ 
cially complimentary, and Coach Cade, while less 
demonstrative than the players, had expressed 
his approval quite unmistakably. So, all in all, 
Leonard should have been more than satisfied 
with the afternoon, it seemed. But he wasn’t, for 
the defeat rankled, and Slim’s well-intended but 
cynical sounding advice to c i forget it and wait 
until next year” brought little comfort. But in 
spite of having failed in their quest of revenge, 
the team became quite cheerful, even merry, in 
fact, before they rolled into Alton, and so Leonard 
too regained his spirits. It was almost dark by 

the time he and Slim turned into the yard and 

187 


188 RIGHT GUARD GRANT 

made their way toward Haylow, although beyond 
the buildings the western sky still showed a tint 
of faded gold most appropriate to the occasion. 
The Sophomore Dinner was set for seven, and 
it was already well past five, a fact that Slim 
mentioned as they reached the front of Academy 
Hall. 

“I ought to get there a bit early, I suppose,” 
he added. “ There’s usually something that goes 
wrong at the last minute, and the other fellows 
on the committee probably won’t show up until 
the last moment.” 

A dim form detached itself from the shadows 
of the doorway of Academy once the two had 
passed and loitered carelessly down the middle 
path in the direction of the gate. Neither Slim 
nor Leonard saw this, however. But, just as they 
went up the steps of Haylow, Leonard laid a de¬ 
taining hand on his companion’s arm. 

“There’s a fellow behind that tree over there 
by the yellow house,” said Leonard softly. ‘‘You 
can’t see him now. He poked his head around 
just as we started up here.” 

Slim looked, but the further side of Meadow 
street was wrapped in shadows and the particular 
tree, seen between the posts of the entrance, 
looked no different than other trees. Slim 
shrugged. “I don’t see anything, General. 
Guess it was just a shadow.” 


FIRST TRICK TO THE ENEMY 189 

“No, it wasn’t. I saw the fellow’s head 
plainly. ’ ’ 

“Oh, well, what of it! Probably some kid 
playing hide-and-seek. I’ll tell you, though. 
We’ll have a look from the window at the end of 
the corridor. Come on.” 

They climbed the stairs and then went along 
the second floor hall to the casement that over¬ 
looked Meadow street. When they reached it and 
peered surreptitiously out and down a dark form 
was proceeding townward along the further side¬ 
walk, beyond the tree. For a brief moment the 
form was palely lighted as it passed under a 
street light, and Slim grunted. 

“Guess you were right,” he said. “Looks like 
one of the freshies. Keeping tabs on me, I sup¬ 
pose. I wonder if there was anything in Johnny 
McGrath’s guff. Just for fun, when we go in the 
room we’ll have a look before we light up. There 
may be more of the varmints hiding about.” 

“What do you suppose they’re up to?” asked 
Leonard. 

“Search me,” said Slim. Then he chuckled. 
“Maybe they’re going to kidnap us, General. 
Wish they’d try it, eh?” 

“I guess they’re not interested in me,” replied 
Leonard a bit regretfully. “See any one?” 

He was looking over Slim’s shoulder, peering 
from the darkened window. Outside the Academy 



190 


RIGHT GUARD GRANT 


yard was black save where the infrequent lights 
along the walks shed a dim yellow radiance that 
sent elongated shadows of the nearby trees 
sprawling off into the gloom. It was a time of 
evening when most of the fellows were in the dor¬ 
mitories, and save for a boy who passed under the 
window, whistling a football tune, to turn in at 
the doorway beneath and come pounding up the 
stairway, the yard appeared empty. Then Slim 
said “ Humph!” under his breath. 

“What!” asked Leonard eagerly. 

“Look along the Doctor’s path about fifty or 
sixty feet from the middle path. See anything!” 

“N-no,” answered Leonard disappointedly. 

“Well, I do. There’s some one under the tree 
there. Close up to the trunk and— There! 
Now he’s moving out a bit! Seel” 

“Yes!” exclaimed the other watcher excitedly. 
“What do you suppose—” 

“Silly chumps,” muttered Slim amusedly. 
“Kid stuff! Oh, well, it amuses them. He’ll 
have to leave there pretty soon and go home to 
supper, though. That’ll be our chance to give 
them the slip. What time is it, anyhow! Turn 
on the light, will you!” 

“Twenty-two of six,” answered Leonard a mo¬ 
ment later. 

“Plenty of time, then. They can’t get out from 
supper in much less than half an hour, and that ’ll 



FIRST TRICK TO THE ENEMY 191 

make it half-past. We’ll be gone by—” Slim 
stopped and listened. “Thought I heard some one 
outside,” he explained, turning his glance away 
from the closed door. “I was going to say that 
by half-past six we’ll be over at Kingman’s. Gee, 
I’m tired, General! How does my eye look?” 

“Not so bad,” said Leonard. He felt gingerly 
of his own nose. “This thing’s mighty sore yet. 
Would you do anything to it?” 

“Your beak? No, not until we get back again. 
Bathe it in arnica then. All it needs now is soap 
and water.” 

The youth who had gone pounding up to the 
floor above a few minutes earlier now came thump¬ 
ing down again. The dormitory was by no means 
quiet, but the visitor’s passing sounded well 
above all else. Slim frowned. “That’s the 
noisiest brute I ever heard,” he muttered. He 
went over to the window and looked down, but 
all he could see in the darkness was a dim shape 
going toward Lykes. “Must be wearing wooden 
shoes, from the sound.” He peered in the direc- 
tion of the watcher under the tree and then pulled 
the green shade down. “I hope your feet are 
cold out there,” he muttered. 

Both boys laid aside the clothes they had worn 
to New Falmouth, since, as one never knew just 
what might occur in the course of a class celebra¬ 
tion, it was customary to wear articles that were 


192 


RIGHT GUARD GRANT 


not highly valued. Slim pulled a pair of gray 
flannel trousers from the closet and hunted out 
an old white sweater. Leonard selected a veteran 
suit of grayish tweed that, during the past sum¬ 
mer, had served on Sundays and holidays at the 
farm. They didn’t hurry in their preparations, 
since, if only as a joke on the freshman spies, 
they meant to time their trip to the village while 
the enemy was at supper. Besides, they were both 
feeling the effects of the game in the shape of 
lame muscles and a general disinclination to move 
faster than a slow walk. 

Six o ’clock struck while they were still dawdling 
and talking lazily of the afternoon’s experiences, 
and doors began to open along the corridors and 
the dwellers in Haylow set off for Lawrence Hall 
and supper. Slim struggled into an old bath-robe 
and looked around for his slippers. “I sort of 
think I’ll be ready to eat, myself, by the time 
seven o’clock comes,” he remarked. “Where the 
dickens is that other slipper of mine!” 

“I’m ready now,” said Leonard. “I hope to 
goodness nothing happens to that dinner before 
I get at it!” 

“Don’t worry, General. Nothing’s going to 
happen to the food. I’ll bet that right at this 
minute Kingman is mounting guard down there 
with a shot-gun loaded with buckshot!” 

“Well, then I hope that nothing happens to 


FIRST TRICK TO THE ENEMY 193 

keep me from reaching it,” amended Leonard, 
smiling. 

Slim chuckled. “That’s different,” he said. 
“I’ll guarantee the feed, General, hut I won’t 
guarantee the guests. Ah, here you are, you lop¬ 
sided old reprobate!” He pulled the missing 
slipper from under the further side of his bed 
and thrust a bare foot into it. “Guess we might 
as well wash up,” he announced. “No use cut¬ 
ting it too fine. I don’t run from trouble, but I 
don’t hunt for it, either, and maybe we’ll be just 
as well off if we get inside that restaurant before 
the freshies finish their supper.” 

“All right,” assented Leonard. The hall was 
silent now and the last footfall had ceased sound¬ 
ing on the pavement below. He picked up his own 
robe and threw it over his present scanty costume. 
At that instant there was an impatient exclama¬ 
tion from Slim. 

\ 

“What the dickens is the matter with this 
door?” Slim demanded as he turned the knob and 
pulled. Then, “Look here, where’s the key?” he 
asked blankly. 

The key was always on the inside of the lock, 
but it plainly wasn’t there now. Slim and Leon¬ 
ard both looked about the floor. Then, together, 
they seized the knob and pulled hard. The door 
didn’t yield. 

“Locked!” said Leonard. 



194 


EIGHT GUARD GRANT 


Slim nodded, and a broad smile crept over bis 
face. “Locked is right,’’ he chuckled. “The lit¬ 
tle varmints win the first trick, General!” 

“But how? There’s been no one here!” 

“Remember the fellow with the heavy tread? 
That’s who, I’ll bet. Got the tip from the fellow 
under the tree, or some other fellow, and made a 
lot of noise going upstairs and then came down 
again quiet and locked us in.” 

“But how could he have got the key without 
our hearing the door open or—” Leonard 
blinked. “I see! They put the key in the out¬ 
side before we came home!” 

Slim nodded. 1 ‘ Or had it in their pocket. Well, 
we’ve got to get out somehow. There’s no use 
raising a riot, for no one will hear us, I guess. 
Perhaps if we yelled from the window— But, 
shucks, I wouldn’t give those kids the satisfac¬ 
tion! If there was a transom—” 

“How about the window?” interrupted Leonard. 

“Rather a long drop, General, with a mighty 
hard landing. Wait a minute! What fellows of 
our class are in Haylow? Let’s see. Joe Conk¬ 
lin’s in Number 27, but that’s upstairs and on 
the back. He’d never hear us. He’s probably 
on his way, too. Who else is there?” 

“Wharton, in 4,” said Leonard. “Let’s raise 
a row and see if anything happens.” 

They did and nothing did happen. After sev- 


FIRST TRICK TO THE ENEMY 195 

eral minutes of shouting and thumping on the 
door and banging on the floor with a shoe they 
gave it up. “Looks now,” said Slim,. “like I 
wasn’t so smart in deciding to wait! We’d have 
been wiser if we’d started earlier!” He crossed 
to the window, threw it wide and looked down. 
“I guess I can do it,” he murmured. Then he 
glanced to the right and said, “Huh, never 
thought of that!” 

Leonard, a shoe in one hand, was still staring 
perplexedly at the door when Slim summoned 
him. “Give me a hand here, General,” called 
Slim. “It’s only about five feet to the next win¬ 
dow, and I can make it easy.” 

Slim wriggled out of his robe and kicked off his 
slippers. Leonard followed him through the win¬ 
dow and they stood together on the broad ledge, 
each with a hand hooked under the sash. “Glad 
those fresh kids aren’t here to see this,” com¬ 
mented Slim. “Get hold of my wrist and hold it 
close in to the wall. If anything happens, son, 
let go. Don’t try to hold me. But I’ll make it. 
All right!” 

Slim edged to the end of the ledge, and Leonard 
slowly followed him. Then, with one hand tight 
around Slim’s right wrist and the other holding 
fast to the sash, Leonard pressed his body close 
against the edge of the embrasure while Slim 
reached out his left hand for a grip on the stone 


196 RIGHT GUARD GRANT 

work about tbe next window. After a moment he 
said: “Give me another inch or two if you can.” 
Leonard obeyed. There was a moment of sus¬ 
pense and then Slim announced: “All right, Gen¬ 
eral. Let go!” Rather fearfully Leonard re¬ 
leased the other’s wrist and turned his head to 
see. Slim was safe on the next sill, raising the 
lower sash. Then he disappeared, and Leonard 
climbed back into Number 12. A moment later 
the door of the next room opened and Slim’s bare 
feet padded along the corridor. A key turned in 
the lock in front of Leonard and the door 
swung in. 

“Left the key in the lock,” panted Slim as he 
entered. “Say, we’ll have to do some hurrying, 
General! Must be getting close to half-past.” 

They hustled off to the lavatory and hustled 
back again and hurriedly donned their clothes. 
Leonard looked at his watch the instant before he 
put the light out. The hands pointed to twenty- 
four minutes after six. 

Below, in the half-light of the doorway, Slim 
paused and looked about inquiringly. There was 
no one in sight. But as they turned side by side 
into the middle path that led toward Academy 
street voices behind them announced that some 
of the fellows had finished supper and were re¬ 
turning to the dormitories. At the far end of 
the row, Borden Hall, the freshman dormitory, 


FIRST TRICK TO THE ENEMY 197 


showed an occasional light, but, so far as either 
Slim or Leonard could see, no forms were about 
the entrance. They went on toward the gate, Slim 
chuckling softly. 

“Guess we beat them to it, after all,” he said. 

But a minute later Slim changed his mind. 


CHAPTER XVn 


SLIM RETREATS 

Just short of the gate the sound of hurrying 
footsteps brought them sharply around. Behind 
them, seen dimly, were many approaching forms. 

“Let’s beat it,” whispered Leonard. 

“Run from a bunch of freshies?” demanded 
Slim haughtily. “Not much! We’ll turn down 
Academy street, though, and let them by. If 
they’re up to something we can’t stop them 
here.” 

Slim led the way sharply to the right, when 
they were through the gate, and they went on for 
several rods to pause in the deeper shadow of a 
not quite leafless tree that overhung the sidewalk. 
Midway between the infrequent street lights, they 
were probably invisible to any one at the entrance. 
A moment or two later a stream of boys appeared. 
That they were freshmen was conclusively proved 
by the preponderance of small youths, although 
quite a good many were fairly big. Some of the 
throng kept straight ahead across Academy street 
and disappeared into State street, beyond the 
corner of the white house where Coach Cade had 
his lodgings. Others paused before the gate as 

198 


SLIM RETREATS 199 

though for a council, and presently a dozen or 
more started obliquely across Academy street and 
went north toward Meadow, half running. Slim 
and Leonard drew more closely against the fence. 
The enemy detachment passed on the other side 
without detecting them and an instant later were 
visible hurrying around the corner of Meadow 
street. Meanwhile the rest of the crowd before 
the gate had, it appeared, reached a decision, for 
they, too, crossed the road and disappeared into 
State street, breaking into a run as they passed 
from sight. Save for an occasional giggle from 
some over-wrought youngster and a low-toned 
murmur now and then, the phalanx had come and 
gone in silence. Leonard thought that silence 
just a bit depressing! 

Left alone on the empty street—empty save for 
the unseen presence of a lone pedestrian trudg¬ 
ing along somewhere in the distance toward River 
street—Slim whistled softly. “Must have been 
fully a hundred of them,” he marveled. “Now 
what the dickens are they up to?” 

“Looks to me as if they were looking for you,” 
said Leonard. 

“Sure, but what can they do if they find me? 
They don’t expect me to stand any of their fool¬ 
ishness, do they? If it came to a scrap—” Slim 
stopped and looked thoughtfully up and down the 
dimly lighted street. “Well, let’s get along, 


200 RIGHT GUARD GRANT 

General. It must be getting close to our dinner 
time.” 

“Something tells me,” said Leonard sadly, 
“that I’ll never see that dinner!” 

Slim chuckled. “Well, to tell the truth, I’m 
not as sure of it myself as I was! Just the same, 
General, if those kids are going to keep me away 
from it they’ll have to go some !’ 9 He led the way 
across to the beginning of State street. “Better 
go this way, I guess,” he continued. “They 
won’t be likely to pull any tricks where the bright 
lights are!” 

The bright lights, however, were still a short 
block away, and when suddenly a gray cat jumped 
down from a fence-post in front of Leonard and 
scuttled away almost between his feet that youth 
gave a yelp of alarm. Slim seemed to consider 
the incident excruciatingly funny and laughed 
consumedly. Leonard maintained a haughty si¬ 
lence all the rest of the way to the corner of West 
street. Here the stores began, and many of them 
were still open, and their lights combined with 
the big street lamps made the thoroughfare al¬ 
most as bright as daylight. No lurking freshman 
was sighted as the two turned south toward 
Meadow street, although, since a good many per¬ 
sons were about, scouting members of the enemy 
forces may have been present. The clock in Tap- 
pier’s jewelry store proclaimed the time as 6:38 




SLIM EE TREATS 201 

as they passed. As they neared Meadow street 
Leonard called Slim’s attention to two youths 
who had just come into sight from the direction 
of the academy. Slim looked and nodded. 

“The short fellow’s Watkins. I don’t know 
the other one. They’re going to the party, I 
guess.” 

“Wouldn’t it be a good idea to go along with 
them, Slim? I mean four is better than two if 
r—if there’s any trouble.” 

But Slim shook his head. “No,” he answered, 
“but I tell you what, General. You catch up with 
them. I’ll have a better chance to make it if I’m 
alone, probably.” 

“I will not,” declared Leonard indignantly. 
“What do you take me for?” 

Slim shrugged. “All right,” he said. “I 
guess there’s nothing much up, anyway. We’ve 
got lighted streets all the rest of—” He stopped. 
On the other side of the street as they turned the 
corner was a group of five older fellows making 
their way briskly toward the center of town: Red 
Reilly, Gordon Renneker, Joe Greenwood and two 
others. “Juniors,” said Slim. “Coming to see 
the fun, I suppose. I’ll bet Red’s had a lot to do 
with this business. Don’t let them see us, Gen¬ 
eral.” Slim slowed his pace a little, and the group 
across Meadow street passed on, laughing and 
talking gayly. 


202 


RIGHT GUARD GRANT 


“How much further is it?” asked Leonard. 

“About five blocks,” replied Slim absently. 
After a moment be said: “Look here, General, 
I’m wondering if it wouldn’t be a clever game to 
get into Kingman’s by the back entrance. It’s 
on Moody street, around the corner from the 
front door, and I don’t believe those fellows know 
about it.” 

“Sounds sensible to me,” began Leonard. 

But Slim disappointed him again. “No, by 
golly,” exclaimed Slim suddenly, “I’m blowed if 
I’ll sneak up any alleys on account of a lot of 
fresbies! We’ll go in by the front door, Gen¬ 
eral ! ’ ’ 

“Sure,” agreed Leonard unenthusiastically. 
“Just as you say, Slim.” 

“How are they going to stop us?” Slim went 
on belligerently. “They can’t do it, by gum!” 

“Of course not,” Leonard assented. “Why, 
there’s only a hundred or so of them. The idea!” 

“Well, suppose there are a hundred, or two 
hundred. They aren’t going to—to use their 
fists, I guess, and if they don’t how are they 
going—” 

“I know,” said Leonard. “You’re probably 
dead right, Slim, but just the same I’d swap my 
right to that dinner for a ham sandwich. As the 
well-known proverb says, Slim, ‘A sandwich in 


SLIM RETREATS 203 

the hand is worth two portions of chicken on the 
plate/ ” 

“Shut up. Here’s High street. The place is in 
the next block. We’ll get there in time, too.” 

High street proved to be a rather narrow 
thoroughfare not quite so well lighted as the 
street they were leaving. The stores had a some¬ 
what second-class appearance and the names on 
the signs and windows were frequently foreign. 
In brief, High street impressed one as being a 
street that had seen better days. The principal 
shopping thoroughfare lay one block south, and 
as the boys neared the corner of Moody street the 
rattle and clang of Market street’s traffic was 
borne to them. And as they neared that corner 
Leonard exclaimed: “Must be a fire or something, 
Slim. Look at the crowd!” 

A little way beyond the corner of the cross 
street was a throng that stretched from side to 
side. Further on, jutting out above the side¬ 
walk on the right, was a gayly illuminated sign 
that announced in electric lamps: “Kingman’s 
Restaurant.” Slim looked and slowed his steps. 
“Freshies,” breathed Slim. “A whole blamed 
army of ’em, General!” 

Leonard could see for himself now that the 
crowd was composed of boys and knew that Slim 
was right. The latter drew him aside to the en- 


204 RIGHT GUARD GRANT 

trance of a shop. “Let’s consider a bit,” said 
Slim. “Suppose they’ve got another gang at the 
other side, too, eh! Must have, for there’s prob¬ 
ably not more than fifty in that bunch there.” 
He peered down the street to confirm this state¬ 
ment. Then he laughed. “You’re lucky, after 
all, General,” he said. 4 ‘There’s a lunch room 
right opposite where you can get your sandwich!” 

“But what are we going to do!” asked Leonard 
anxiously. 

“Well,” answered Slim, “I guess there’s just 
one thing we can do, and that’s buck the line. 
There doesn’t seem much chance of running the 
end, eh! Let’s go, General!” 

They set forth again side by side, appearing 
as casual as they might, reached the corner, 
paused to let an automobile pass and approached 
the throng. Just then a small youth darted past 
them and gave the alarm shrilly: 

“Staples! Staples /” 

A roar of cheers and laughter went up, and the 
freshman horde moved to meet them. Cries of 
“Welcome, Soph!” “Dinner’s ready, Staples!” 
“Way for the President!” mingled with jeers 
and cat-calls. 

“Stick behind me,” counseled Slim in a low 
voice. Then he gently pushed the first of the 
enemy from his path. “Gangway, Fresh,” he 
said smilingly. But they were all about now, 


SLIM RETREATS 


205 


presenting a solid barrier. The more Slim shoved 
the greater the resistance became. He knew bet¬ 
ter than to lose his patience, however. Instead, 
he spoke laughingly to Leonard over his shoulder. 
“Let’s go, General,’’ he said. “Play low and 
make it good!” But although Leonard shoved 
and pushed there was no advance. “A-a-ay, 
Soph!” chanted the defenders. Slim felt his dig¬ 
nity slipping fast. He wondered why the fellows 
upstairs in the restaurant, only a few rods be¬ 
yond, didn’t hear and come to the rescue. But 
they didn’t, and presently, breathless though still 
smiling, Slim paused to parley. 

“What’s the big idea, you fellows?” he de¬ 
manded of one of the bigger freshmen. 

“Oh, we like you too well to let you mix in 
with a lot of low-down trash like those fellows up 
there,” was the flippant reply. “You stay and 
play with us, Staples.” 

“Thanks,” answered Slim dryly. “All right, 
but you don’t need Grant, too, do you?” 

“We-ell,” began the boy. But Leonard settled 
the question himself. 

“I’ll stay with you, Slim,” he announced. 

“Say, Staples! Slim Staples, are you hun¬ 
gry?” called some one, and a laugh followed. 
“Want your dinner, sonny?” “They’re just 
starting on the oysters, Staples!” “Oh, you 
Sophomore President!” 


206 


RIGHT GUARD GRANT 


Stung, Slim faced his tormenters. “WLat’ll 
you bet I don’t get in there?” he demanded 
warmly. 

“When, to-morrow?” asked one of the enemy. 

“No, to-night, and before that dinner’s over,” 
answered Slim above the burst of laughter that 
greeted the sally. “You’re pretty clever for a 
bunch of freshies, but then you’re only freshies, 
you know!” Slim managed to smile sweetly as 
he said it, but that didn’t make the insult less 
severe. He took Leonard’s arm and turned care¬ 
lessly away while the crowd jeered more loudly 
and with the first note of anger. To call a fresh¬ 
man a freshman is, for some reason, the deadliest 
of insults. 

“Sore-head!” some one called shrilly, and 
“Follow them, Tom!” advised a second. “Bet¬ 
ter watch ’em!” 

Slim turned and leveled a finger at the big 
leader of the crowd. “Come on,” he said. “Fol¬ 
low us. I’d like to have you!” 

But the big freshman only grinned and shook 
his head. “No, thanks,” he called after them. 
“I’ll wait here. Come again, Staples, won’t you? 
Dinner’s ready!” 

Followed by Leonard, Slim walked briskly 
around the corner of Moody street, but, once out 
of sight, he slowed down. “Any one after us?” 
he asked softly. 


SLIM RETREATS 


207 


“No,” said Leonard. “Now what, Slim?” 

Slim shook his head. “There’s the back en¬ 
trance, bnt something tells me I didn’t do those 
guys justice. I’m going to have a look, but I 
don’t believe they’ve left the back door un¬ 
guarded.” He went down the block about half¬ 
way and there turned into a narrow alley. Some 
eighty feet beyond, the forms of a dozen or more 
youths showed where the dim light from a glass- 
paneled door fell across the passage. Slim 
stopped. “You can’t fight them,” he muttered 
disgustedly. “They’ve got us stopped again, 
General.” The two retraced their steps, followed 
by a jeering shout from the depths of the alley. 
“We’ll go around to Market street,” announced 
Slim, “and think this over. There must be some 
way!” 


CHAPTER XVIII 


LEONARD COMES TO THE PARTY 

On Market street Slim led the way into a drug 
store and slipped onto a stool in front of the 
white marble counter where two aproned youths 
were dispensing drinks. ‘‘We’ve got to cook up 
some scheme,” he said, “and we might as well 
be comfortable while we’re at it. What’s yours!” 

“Mine’s a good dinner,” answered Leonard 
wistfully. 

“You’re in the wrong shop, General, but you 
can have a sandwich if you say the word.” 

Leonard looked longingly at the two tiers of 
sandwiches under the glass cover nearby. 
“You!” he asked. 

Slim shook his head sternly. “No, sir, I’m 
going to dine at Kingman’s in about ten minutes.” 

Leonard sighed and mentioned his choice of a 
beverage. The renunciation was difficult. When 
their glasses were in front of them Slim lifted 
his gravely. “Here’s luck,” he said. 

“Success to our scheme,” replied Leonard, and 

drank deeply. The concoction tasted good and 

he imbibed again and felt better. He glanced at 

Slim. Slim was staring hard at the counter and 

208 


LEONAED COMES TO THE PAETY 209 

absently tracing a design on its smooth surface. 
The clock at the end of the store, above the pre¬ 
scription counter, proclaimed three minutes past 
seven. Leonard looked out through the big glass 
window and sought inspiration. The sidewalks 
were well thronged, for the evening was mild for 
November. A big yellow trolley car passed with 
a strident clanging of its gong. Automobiles went 
by honking warningly to the rash pedestrians 
who sought to find their way across the street. 
A smart looking policeman, his fingers crooked 
in his belt, paused momentarily to view the con¬ 
tents of the window and then continued on his 
beat. Leonard had found his inspiration. 

“Slim, look here,” he exclaimed. “Why can’t 
we get a cop to put us through that mob back 
there? I just saw one go by. If we told him how 
it was—” 

But Slim looked instantly disapproving. “That 
wouldn’t be playing the game,” he answered. 
“You—you don’t call on the cops to help you, 
General. It isn’t done.” 

“Isn’t done be blowed!” said Leonard. “Look 
here, I’m so hungry I could eat nails. We didn’t 
have enough lunch to keep a canary alive, Slim. 
I want my dinner, and if I can get it by hooking 
onto a cop—” 

“You’d bring disgrace on the whole Sophomore 
Class,” interrupted the other. “No, not to be 











210 RIGHT GUARD GRANT 

thought of, General. Besides, I’ve got a better 
plan.” 

“It’s about time,” grumbled Leonard. 

“What’s to keep us from getting a taxi and 
going right to the door of the restaurant?” 

“Why, you poor boob, those wild Indians would 
halt the taxi and see you inside. They’ll be look¬ 
ing for some such scheme as that.” 

“I guess you’re right,” acknowledged Slim 
sadly. 4 ‘You’re next.” 

“Well, suppose we got the restaurant on the 
telephone and told the bunch that we were on the 
corner and couldn’t get by. Then they could 
come out and rescue us.” 

“Ye-es, but that would be sort of babyish, 
wouldn’t it? I’d a heap rather get there by my 
own—er—efforts.” 

“So would I,” responded Leonard a trifle im¬ 
patiently, “but your own efforts aren’t getting 
us there! And—and it’s getting late!” 

The clock said eight minutes past now. The 
two subsided into silence again. Slim set down 
his empty glass. “Want another?” he asked 
morosely. Leonard shook his head. Half a hun¬ 
dred more precious seconds passed and then 
Leonard gave an exclamation of triumph. “Got 
it!” he declared. “Got it, Slim! At least, I 
think so. How does this strike you?” 

Pushing aside his glass, Leonard bent his head 




































LEONARD COMES TO THE PARTY 211 

close and explained his project, while Slim, at 
first looking dubious, at last nodded in whole¬ 
hearted approval. “Sure!” he said with convic¬ 
tion. “That’ll do it, I’ll bet, General. But, hold 
on, how about you! That sort of leaves you out 
in the storm, doesn’t it!” 

“Never mind me,” said Leonard. “You’re the 
important one. Besides, I’ll make it somehow 
later. All I ask you to do is to see that there’s 
something left when I do get there.” 

“Well,” said Slim, “if you don’t get in when 
I do I’ll take a bunch and go out and get you.” 

“Thought you said that sort of thing was 
babyish! No, you just see that there’s something 
left, Slim, and leave the rest to me. I guess they 
won’t care whether I make it or not. It’s only 
you, as the Class President, who interests them.” 

Slim looked doubtful, but time was passing and 
he had thrown down the gauntlet to the Freshman 
Class. “All right,” he agreed. “Have it your 
way. Let’s go.” 

“Wait a minute,” objected Leonard. “We’ve 
got it wrong. We’d both better try the same end 
of the block. They’ve seen you in that white 
sweater there and won’t be looking for you in 
anything else. See what I mean!” 

“Yes, and I guess you’re right, General. And 
say, old son, as a general you’re sure making 
good! ’ ’ 


212 RIGHT GUARD GRANT 

About five minutes later the watchful-waiting 
throng of freshmen at the Moody street end of the 
block again rushed into barricade formation, 
spurred on by the joyous applause of a score of 
juniors who, having stationed themselves inside 
the barricade in the hope of witnessing some fun, 
were finding the proceedings rather tame. A 
rickety taxi had swung around from Market 
street and was attempting to penetrate the bar¬ 
rier. The freshmen rallied to the threatened 
invasion. 

< * Stop that taxi!” was the slogan. “Look 
inside! ’ ’ 

Opposed by a solid mass of humanity, there was 
nothing for the driver of the vehicle to do but 
stop. He did so, protesting forcibly and most 
impolitely. The freshmen swarmed about the 
dilapidated taxicab, breasting the sizzling radi¬ 
ator and showering questions on the fuming 
proprietor. Others peered in through the glass. 
Suspense and confusion reigned. On the corner 
a policeman twirled his club and looked on in 
good-natured amusement. On such occasions as 
this the Law was ever lenient with youth. The 
suspense was short-lived. A cry of joyous tri¬ 
umph arose and the doors of the cab were 
snatched open. 

“Here he is!” was the cry. “Trying to sneak 


LEONARD COMES TO THE PARTY 213 

past! Nothing doing, Staples! Try again, 
Soph!' ' 

“Pull him out!” advised a fellow well removed 
from the center of the crowd. 

“Turn around, cabby! No thoroughfare, old 
sport! Detour by Market street. Police orders.” 

Then of a sudden triumph came to an end. A 
disgusted voice arose above the joyous clamor. 
“It isn't Staples! It's only General Grant!” 

“What!” “You're crazy!” “Let's see!” 
“Show us!” “Oh, shucks!” 

Leonard was extremely dignified throughout 
what was, quite naturally, an annoying experi¬ 
ence to a peaceful traveler of the city streets. 
“You fellows haven't any right,” he said firmly, 
“to stop this taxi. I've paid the driver to take 
me to Kingman's Restaurant, and—” 

“Sorry, Grant, but this street's barred to 
traffic.” The snub-nosed freshman blocking the 
door on one side grinned exasperatingly. Behind 
him, his companions pushed and shoved in an 
effort to see into the dark interior of the cab. 

“Look on the floor, Higbee! Bet you Staples 
is in there!” some one shouted. Hands explored 
the corners and one boy produced a flash light 
and cast its rays about. Disappointment was writ 
large on the countenances of all. “Not here!” 
was proclaimed. 


214 


RIGHT GUARD GRANT 


“Where’d lie go?” asked Higbee, who appeared 
to be one of the leading spirits. 

“Who?” asked Leonard densely. 

“Slim Staples. Where’d he get to?” 

“Oh, Slim?” Leonard leaned out of one door 
and looked up the block. In front of the well- 
lighted and for the moment unguarded entrance 
to the restaurant, a tall youth paused to wave a 
hand ere he disappeared. Leonard laughed 
softly. “Why,” he went on, “Slim’s just gone in 
to dinner.” 

“Yes, he has!” jeered Higbee. But others had 
seen the incident, although too late to interfere, 
and the dire news was being shouted up and down 
the block. 

“He got in! I saw him!” “Oh, your grand¬ 
mother ! How could he ? ” “ Yes, he did! Arthur 
saw him, too! He stopped at the door and 
waved—” “What’s that? Staples made it? 
When? How could he? What? Walked right in 
the door! Say, where were you guys? You were 
supposed to—” “Come on! Let’s stop him! 
Where’d he go? Who saw him?” “They say he 
got in!” “Rot! He’s in the crowd somewhere! 
This cab was a stall! Come on, Freshmen!” 

Such a hullabaloo! Leonard, laughing, awaited 
his chance. It came. The defenders of the 
Moody street approach forgot him entirely and 
went rushing toward the door of the restaurant. 


LEONARD COMES TO THE PARTY 215 

Leonard slipped swiftly from the cab and fol¬ 
lowed, taking his place in the rear ranks of the 
enemy. The driver of the taxi, his fifty cents 
safely in his pocket, chuckled and swung back 
toward Market street. 

Something over a hundred freshmen came to¬ 
gether in a confused, pushing, shoving mass be¬ 
fore the restaurant entrance. Accusations of 
dereliction of duty were frequent. Denials an¬ 
swered them. The masterful Higbee, striving to 
make his voice heard above the tumult, demanded 
proof. Assertions and denials battled for su¬ 
premacy. Staples had gone in. Staples hadn’t 
gone in. Lots of fellows had seen him. They 
were crazy. Higbee waved a hand in exaspera¬ 
tion. The policeman from the corner appeared 
suddenly in the scene, his good-natured voice 
mildly exhorting them to “move on now and don’t 
be blocking the sidewalk.” Slowly they gave 
back, flocking into the street. Across the thor¬ 
oughfare the group of juniors, laughing enjoy- 
ably, forgot their neutral status and proffered 
wicked advice. 

“Go on up and get him, Freshies! Don’t let 

him fool you that way!” 

Fortunately perhaps, the noise was still too 
great for the advice to reach the freshmen. And 
just then a window went up on the second floor 
of the building, and the shade was pushed aside. 





216 


RIGHT GUARD GRANT 


“Oh, Fresh!” Comparative silence fell, and the 
crowd in the street craned their heads and sought 
the voice, slowly backing from the entrance in 
their effort to see. “Oh, Fresh!” Again the 
mocking challenge. A mutter arose from the 
throng that grew rapidly into a roar of futile 
rage. At the window Slim Staples smiled be¬ 
nignly down and waved a gay hand. 

“Who wins the bet?” he called. 

“A cold dinner for you, Slim!” shouted a 
freshman shrilly. A shout of approval went up, 
but Slim shook his head. 

‘ 1 Haven’t started yet,’ 9 he answered. ‘ 1 Oysters 
just coming up!” Grinning faces appeared be¬ 
hind Slim’s at the window. “Now then, fellows, 
three hearty groans for the Freshman Class!” 

With a final wave of his hand, Slim disap¬ 
peared, the window closed, and the long white 
shade fell back into place. A dismal silence held 
the throng below. Only the unkind laughter of 
the juniors disturbed the quiet of the moment. 
And in that moment, made desperate by Slim’s 
mention of oysters, a boy in a white sweater that 
was somewhat too large for him, detached him¬ 
self swiftly from the group and sped toward the 
doorway. The shout of warning came too late. 
So, too, did the effort of the startled policeman. 
The latter’s hands came away empty, and Leon¬ 
ard, caroming from a corner of the doorway, 


LEONAED COMES TO THE PAETY 217 


righted himself and went scurrying up the flight 
of stairs. 

At the top he paused for an instant to glance 
behind. The policeman was trying to do two 
things at once and succeeding. He was peering 
undecidedly after the trespasser and holding back 
the pursuit. With an unsteady laugh Leonard 
tried the knob of the door in front of him, from 
behind which came the sounds of a merry party. 
It did not yield. Leonard tried again and put his 
weight against the portal. From below came the 
hoarse voice of the officer. 

“Hey, youse, come down out of that before I 
comes up and gets you!” 

Leonard beat a tattoo on the door. The police¬ 
man started slowly and heavily and remorselessly 
up the carpeted steps. Behind him the doorway 
was crowded with faces. Leonard kicked until 
the door shook. 

“Let me in, Sophs! This is Grant!” he 
shouted. 

“Come away from that now!” ordered the 
policeman gruffly. He was almost at the top, and 
Leonard’s brief glance told him that his good¬ 
nature was no longer to be relied on. 

“I’ve got a right in here,” panted Leonard, 
still pounding and kicking. “I’m—I’m one of the 
party!” 

“You’re party’s down below,” answered the 




218 


EIGHT GUABD GRANT 


officer grimly, and, topping the last step, stretched 
out a massive hand. Leonard, backed against the 
door now, waved weakly at the menace and tried 
to find words. Then, just when the Law was 
about to clutch him, the door behind him opened 
suddenly and unexpectedly and Leonard arrived 
on the scene of the Sophomore Dinner in most 
undignified manner! 

The door closed as quickly as it had opened, 
leaving a surprised policeman to scratch his head 
and, finally, to retrace his steps to the sidewalk, 
where his appearance empty-handed summoned a 
groan of disappointment from the waiting throng. 
That disappointment was the last straw, and, 
after a rather half-hearted cheer for themselves, 
the freshmen wended their way back to school. 

Upstairs, Leonard was finishing his sixth and 
final oyster. 


i 


CHAPTER XIX 


NOT ELIGIBLE 

After a day like yesterday only one thing could 
be expected of the weather, and so here was a 
rainy Sunday. After church came dinner, and 
after dinner—well, nothing, it seemed, but a long 
and sleepy afternoon. Leonard and Slim found 
reading matter and settled down, Slim on the 
window-seat because he managed to reach it 
first, and Leonard on his bed, with his own and 
Slim’s pillows under his head. Outside the No¬ 
vember afternoon was dark with lead-gray clouds 
and a fine, persistent rain challenged Leonard’s 
optimistic prediction of clearing weather by four 
o’clock. Slim grunted gloomily and hunched him¬ 
self more comfortably against the cushions. ‘ 4 It’s 
days like this,” he said, “that account for the 
startling prevalence of crime during the month 
of November in American preparatory schools.” 

At three Leonard laid down his book, yawned 
and looked through the window. It wasn’t rain¬ 
ing as it had been an hour ago; it was raining 
harder! “As a weather prophet,” reflected 
Leonard, “I’m a flivver.” He yawned again. 
Then: “Let’s put on our coats, Slim, and get 

219 



220 RIGHT GUARD GRANT 

out,” he suggested. “This is deadly.’’ There 
was, however, no response, and Leonard lifted 
himself on an elbow and looked across. Slim’s 
book was laid flat across his chest, and he was fast 
asleep. ‘ 4 Sluggard!’ ’ grumbled Leonard. He 
pillowed his head in his hands and considered. 
He might go to sleep, too, but he didn’t want to. 
He might arouse Slim and persuade him to go 
out. Or he might let poor old Slim alone and 
splash over to The Hill and see Johnny McGrath. 
That’s what he would do! 

His final act before leaving the room was to slip 
a piece of paper between Slim’s gently folded 
hands. On the paper was written: “Gone to 
Europe. Back at five. Sweet dreams.” Mrs. 
McGrath answered Leonard’s ring and told him 
that Johnny was up in his room and that he 
should go right up. Meanwhile she divested 
Leonard of his dripping mackinaw and bore it off 
to the nearest radiator to dry. Johnny was 
hunched in a big chair when Leonard reached the 
head of the stairway and could see into the room. 
His knees were close to his chin, and a big book 
was propped against them. But the book was 
quickly laid aside when he saw the visitor. He 
pushed a chair close to the radiator and forced 
Leonard into it, bidding him put his feet to the 
warmth, and then drew up a second chair for him¬ 
self, beaming welcome the while. 


NOT ELIGIBLE 221 

“Sure, you’re an angel,” lie declared, “to drop 
in like this, General. Where’s Slim that he isn’t 
with you?” 

“Fast asleep, the lazy coot. I guess last eve¬ 
ning was too much for him, Johnny.” They had 
progressed to the stage where “McGrath” had 
given place to “Johnny.” “Did you hear 
about it?” 

Johnny nodded and laughed. “Yes, young 
Shawley was telling me this morning. I’m sorry 
I didn’t go down and see the fun. You and Slim 
were too smart for them, eh?” 

“Well, we got there, although I’ll confess they 
had us worried for awhile. What I don’t under¬ 
stand is why they locked us in the room. They 
must have known we’d have got out sooner or 
later.” 

Johnny nodded again. “ I ’ll tell you about that. 
’Twas Reilly put the freshmen up to it, or most 
of it. They had it planned, they thought, so Slim 
couldn’t get to the dinner. They expected he’d 
start early, and there was about twenty of the 
freshies waiting for him down by the gate, where 
they could have got him either way he’d gone.” 

“Got him?” queried Leonard. 

“Oh, sure, nothing rough, you understand. 
But they had a fake note from Coach Cade asking 
Slim to stop and see him, and one of them was to 
give it to him, the rest being out of sight. The 


222 RIGHT GUARD GRANT 

coach went away over Sunday at five-forty, but 
Reilly had in some way got him to leave the key to 
his rooms. Well, the plan was that Slim was to 
call at the house over there on the corner, and 
some one was to say ‘Come in,’ and the room 
would be dark and then, the first thing Slim would 
know he’d be safe in the big closet for the eve¬ 
ning. ’ ’ 

“But Slim knew—we both knew—that Mr. 
Cade was going home, Johnny.” 

“Maybe, but likely he wouldn’t have remem¬ 
bered it, or perhaps he’d have figured that Mr. 
Cade was going on a later train. Anyway, that’s 
how they had it fixed. But you fellows didn’t 
start along early enough, and the gang had to go 
to supper. So Shawley locked you in the room, 
to keep you there until they could get out from 
supper. He’d swiped the key earlier in the after¬ 
noon, do you see. Well, when you did start out 
they knew it was too late to spring that fake note 
on you and so they fixed to keep you away from 
the restaurant. That is, Slim. They didn’t care 
so much whether you got there. You were only 
a—a complication, as you might say. Remember, 
, I tipped Slim off the other evening. I didn’t 
know then what the scheme was, but I knew they 
were after him.” 

“So that was it,” mused Leonard. “We saw 
the freshies hiding around behind trees when we 


223 


NOT ELIGIBLE 

got back from the game, but I didn’t suppose they 
meant anything much. Neither did Slim; until 
we found ourselves locked in the room.” 

“How was it Slim got there finally?” asked 
Johnny. “Young Shawley says you were in a 
taxicab, with Slim’s white sweater on—” 

“Yes, we changed clothes. That is, I put on 
Slim’s sweater and he put on my coat and an old 
felt hat I was wearing. You see, they’d already 
seen Slim with that sweater on, and so they’d be 
looking for it again. I got in the taxi on Market 
street and Slim walked away around by Morrison 
street, coming back on Moody. We’d fixed ‘zero 
hour’ at seven fifteen so he’d have time to get to 
the corner when I did. Of course the freshies 
thought I was Slim as soon as they saw the white 
sweater, and I didn’t show myself before I had 
to. Slim just walked into the crowd, with my hat 
pulled down over his face, and while the freshies 
were all clustered around the taxi he sauntered 
along down the street, no one paying any atten¬ 
tion to him. It was as easy as pie.” 

“Sure, I wish I’d been there,” chuckled Johnny. 
“And they say you butted a cop out of your way 
afterwards and no one could stop you! ’ ’ 

“I didn’t butt him. He made a dive at me and 
I side-stepped, showing the value of football 
training, Johnny.” 

“Did you have a good dinner?” 


224 


RIGHT GUARD GRANT 


“Did we? Wow! And, gee, I was so hungry 
I couldn’t eat fast enough. We didn’t get through 
until half-past nine, pretty nearly!” 

“I suppose you heard about Renneker and 
Jimsy Carnochan?” asked Johnny. 

“No. Who’s Jimsy— Oh, I remember! 

What’s happened?” 

11 Sure, nothing much—yet, ’ ’ answered Johnny, 
“but I’m fearing something may. It seems that 
Jimsy and a couple of other town fellows were 
coming along River street last night when Ren¬ 
neker and Red Reilly and three or four other 
chaps were coming back to school. They’d been 
over watching the freshies, you know.” 

“I know; we passed them,” assented Leonard. 

“Well, I got it from Jimsy this forenoon after 
church. According to his tell, our gang was tak¬ 
ing up the whole sidewalk, walking five or six 
abreast, maybe, and one of the fellows with Jimsy 
objected and shoved into them, and there were 
some words. Jimsy says the juniors started the 
trouble, but maybe he’s prejudiced. Anyhow, he 
and Renneker squared off and punched each other 
a couple of times, no harm being done, do you 
see, and the others shoving in spoiling it. From 
what Jimsy says, I get it that Renneker laughed 
and wanted to shake hands, and Jimsy was still 
ugly. He’s that way when he’s mad. He said 
something to Renneker about ‘ having the goods 


NOT ELIGIBLE 225 

on him,’ and then Renneker and the others went 
on. Well, now Jimsy’s awfully sore, General, and 
I ’m fearful he ’ll be telling what he knows around 
town, and it’ll get to the Academy. I argued with 
him, but he’s stubborn. There’s English blood 
in him, I’m thinking.” 

Leonard laughed. “That’s what makes him 
stubborn, eh?” 

Johnny grinned. “Sure it is,” he answered 
stoutly. “Every one knows the English are 
mules for stubbornness.” 

“Oh, well, he’ll probably get over his grouch,” 
said Leonard cheerfully. “And, even if he should 
spill the beans, it wouldn’t be likely to reach fac¬ 
ulty’s ears.” 

“Maybe not,” allowed Johnny. “Not that I’d 
trouble much if it did, for it looks to me like this 
big fellow isn’t any marvel, anyway, and some 
one else might play his position fully as well and 
maybe better.” He looked meaningly at Leon¬ 
ard, but the latter chose to disregard the insinua¬ 
tion. 

“Gordon Renneker’s playing a lot better game 
than he did awhile back, Johnny. Yesterday he 
was corking in the last part of the game with New 
Falmouth.” 

“It might be,” Johnny admitted. “I didn’t go. 
But if I was you I’d be sort of glad if Renneker 
wasn’t around, General.” 


226 


RIGHT GUARD GRANT 


“Oh, nonsense! There’s still Stimson and 
Raleigh and Falls.” 

“You’ve got Raleigh and Falls beat right now,” 
declared the other with deep conviction. “And 
I wouldn’t wonder if you could play as good a 
game as either of the others, in spite you aren’t 
so big.” 

“You’re crazy,” laughed Leonard. “Anyway, 
Johnny, I’m not kicking. I do think that Mr. 
Cade will give me a show in the Oak Grove game 
next Saturday, and if I make good in that it’s 
likely I’ll get into the Kenly Hall fracas for a 
time. ’ ’ 

“This Oak Grove game’s the last before the 
big one, isn’t it?” mused Johnny. Leonard 
nodded. “Then you’ve got only the two weeks,” 
continued the other reflectively: “Man, you’ve 
got to work! My money’s on you, though, Gen¬ 
eral, and whether this big fellow is playing or 
isn’t playing I’ll be looking for you to be right 
there when the last fight starts.” 

“I wish I had your confidence, Johnny,” 
laughed Leonard. “Unless by ‘right there’ you 
mean on the bench.” 

“I do not,” said Johnny decisively. “I mean 
playing at right guard or left and giving the other 
fellows what-for!” 

“Oh, well, I hope you’re right.” 

“I know I’m right.” 


NOT ELIGIBLE 227 

< * 

“Any English blood in yon?” asked Leonard. 

Yet on Monday it almost seemed that Johnny’s 
hopefulness was not without cause, for Leonard 
found himself treated with a new—well, deference 
is hardly the word: let us say respect, although 
even that word is scarcely the right one. Call it 
what you like, however, and the fact remains that 
the new order of things entailed much harder 
work than Leonard had done before. With less 
than two weeks remaining before the final con¬ 
test of the season, Coach Cade appeared to be 
striving to present a team of worn-out and ex¬ 
hausted cripples for Kenly Hall’s amusement. 
Yet, probably because he had brought them along 
fairly slowly so far, the players proved capable 
of performing a lot of work and receiving a lot 
of punishment in that fortnight. The time had 
come to round off the corners, to smooth down 
the rough places, to acquire subtleties without 
forgetting fundamentals. There were new plays 
to learn, too, and, a little later, new signals. Per¬ 
haps Leonard worked no harder than any one 
else; perhaps, because he had more to learn, it 
just seemed harder. But he got on famously. 
There was no doubt about that. He was fast and 
mettlesome and used his head. By the last of the 
week he had been accepted by those in the know— 
and some who weren’t—as a certain performer 
against Kenly Hall. When he spoke of sore 


228 EIGHT GUARD GRANT 

muscles or contused shins or strained ligaments 
Slim browbeat bim shamefully. 

“What of it!” Slim would demand fiercely. 
“Expect to play football without getting bruised 
a little? Don’t be a pill. Why, you’ve got Ren- 
neker and Stimson lying awake nights trying to 
think up some way of beating you! Here, let’s 
see your old leg. Where’s that bottle of arnica? 
Hold still, you silly ass! Sure, I knows it hurts, 
but you needn’t throw a fit about it!” 

“Fit yourself!” Leonard would snap indig¬ 
nantly, being thoroughly weary and sore all over. 
“Look at the way you went on when you got a 
black eye that time!” 

“It wasn’t the bruise I minded, it was simply 
the damage to my manly beauty. These sore 
places of yours won’t ever show, General, even if 
you play in a bathing-suit! ’ ’ 

Then, on Friday, Jimsy Carnochan returned 
from a brief visit to New London and took his 
pen in hand, thereby considerably “gumming up” 
the Alton Academy football situation. 

To Jimsy’s credit be it said that he didn’t hide 
behind any such anonymity as “A Friend” or 
“Wellwisher” or “Fair Play.” No, sir, Jimsy 
came right out and signed the bottom of that 
chirographic bombshell plainly with his name, 
thus: “James Duffy Carnochan.” It was a 
bombshell, too, if for no other reason than that it 


NOT ELIGIBLE 


229 


exploded so unexpectedly. It was addressed to 
Coach Cade, and it reached that already harassed 
gentleman by the first mail delivery on Saturday 
morning. It ran as follows: 

Mr. John Cade, 

87 Academy street, 

City. 

Dear Sir: 

You might like to know that one of your football 
players isn’t elligible to play on your team. His name 
is Renneker but it wasn’t that last August when he 
played first baseman for the Maple Leafs baseball team 
of New London, it was George Ralston. He got twenty- 
five dollars for playing first baseman and if you don’t 
believe it please communicate with John Worrall in 
Care Broady Silk Mill, New London. Worrall managed 
the Maple Leafs and paid the money to Ralston or 
Renneker cash before the game started, as he will tell 
you. I guess he can’t deny it anyway, not if you ask 
him right out. 

Wishing you a successful season, 

Resply yours, 

James Duffy Carnochan.” 

Coach Cade frowned, read the epistle a second 
time, laughed shortly and thrust it into a pocket. 
He had received similar communications before 
to-day, sometimes written in good faith, some¬ 
times purely mischievous. Then he reflected that 
here must be an example of the former sort, since 
the writer had not only signed his name but, evi- 


230 


RIGHT GUARD GRANT 


dently as an after-thought, placed an address on 
the flap of the envelope. Nevertheless, in the 
press of other matters Coach Cade forgot the 
letter for several hours, and it wasn't until he 
pulled it forth from his pocket when seeking 
another document that he recalled its annoying 
existence. This was just after early dinner was 
over at training table, and Gordon Renneker was 
still in sight by the dining hall door. The coach 
excused himself to Tod Tenney and made after 
the player. 

“Renneker,” he said, overtaking the big fellow 
just outside the hall, “got a minute to spare?” 

Renneker assented and followed the other along 
the path that led around to the gymnasium. 
Coach Cade produced the letter and handed it to 
Renneker. “Got that in the morning’s mail,” he 
explained. “I’m not taking any stock in it, you 
understand, but you’d better see it.” 

Gordon Renneker read the epistle through 
calmly and handed it back, with a smile. The 
smile, however, was not quite natural, and the 
coach noted the fact. “Well,” he asked, “what 
about it?” 

“I’d say,” replied Renneker, “it’s a case of 
mistaken identity.” 

“Probably,” agreed Johnny, eyeing him sharply 
nevertheless. “I presume you never played base¬ 
ball on this team?” 


NOT ELIGIBLE 231 

“No,” answered the other. The coach waited 
for further words, but Renneker seemed to have 
finished with the subject. The coach frowned. 
He put the letter back into a pocket. 

“Know this fellow Carnochan?” he asked. 

“No. I never heard of him before.” 

“H’m, funny he has it in for you, then.” 

Renneker shrugged. “He may know me, 
Coach,” he suggested. “I think I’ll look the 
beggar up and ask him what’s on his mind. 
What’s the address? Mind if I have the letter?” 

“I’ll give you the address and you can set it 
down. Got a pencil? ‘164 Orchard street, 2nd 
Bell.’ You know, of course, that if you had played 
on that team, and received money for doing it, 
you couldn’t play here, Renneker.” 

“Naturally.” 

“All right. When you see this chap you’d 
better convince him that he’s mistaken. We don’t 
want him writing that sort of a letter to Kenly 
Hall or shooting off his mouth to the news¬ 
papers.” 

“He wouldn’t do that, would he?” exclaimed 
Renneker with evident dismay. “Talk to the 
newspapers, I mean.” 

“I don’t know, son. Look here, Renneker, 
there’s something in this. You’d better come 
clean, my boy, and save trouble later.” 

There was no answer for a minute. Renneker 


232 


EIGHT GUAED GEANT 


was studying the ground intently. Coach Cade 
didn’t like the look on his face. Finally Eenneker 
looked up and laughed shortly. 

“I fancy you’re right,” he said. “I’ll hand in 
my togs.” 

“What! But, great Scott, man, you don’t mean 
to tell me—” 

“I’m not telling anything,” answered Eenneker 
evenly. “I’m just not denying.” 

“And you came here with this thing hanging 
over your head and let us waste our time on you, 
knowing that it was bound to come out! Een¬ 
neker, I’d like to—to—” 

“Wrong, sir. I didn’t know it would come out. 
I’m sorry. If there’s anything more I can say, 
I’ll say it, hut it doesn’t occur to me at the mo¬ 
ment. I’m just—awfully sorry, Mr. Cade.” 

He turned and went off, unhurriedly, shoulders 
back. 



I 


CHAPTER XX 

EIGHT GUAED GEANT 

Captain Emebson, Billy Wells, Bee Appel and 
Perry Stimson had gone over to Lakeville to 
watch Kenly Hall play Rutledge. Consequently 
Alton faced Oak Grove that afternoon minus the 
services of five of her best players. Kerrison 
took Rus’s place at right end, Wilde substituted 
for the 4 ‘demon tackle,” as Slim called Billy 
Wells, Carpenter went in at quarter, a newcomer 
named Grant played right guard and Raleigh 
played left. Probably Coach Cade could have 
sprinkled in half a dozen third-string players be¬ 
side and still seen the contest won by the Gray- 
and-Gold, for Oak Grove, selected for the last 
game but one because she was never formidable, 
proved weak beyond expectation. Alton piled up 
three scores in the first two periods, for a total 
of 21 points, and held the visitor to a field-goal. 
When the third quarter started Cruikshank was 
at the helm, and Goodwin, Kendall and Dakin 
completed the backfield. As the final half pro¬ 
gressed other substitutions took place and when 
the last whistle blew only one man was on who 
had started the contest, and that man was Sam 

233 



234 BIGHT GTJABD GRANT 

Butler. Leonard stayed on until tlie fourth pe¬ 
riod and then gave way to Falls. Two more 
scores, a touchdown and a field-goal by Kendall 
from the thirty-four yards, had added 10 points 
more to an impressive total. Oak Grove had, how¬ 
ever, in the third period taken advantage of a 
fumble by Cruikshank and banged her way 
through for a touchdown, and the final figures 
were 31 to 10. 

Leonard played a good if not startling game at 
right guard that afternoon. Perhaps he would 
have performed better had there been more incen¬ 
tive, but Oak Grove’s inferiority had shown early 
in the game, and Alton’s first two scores had been 
made before the first period was done, and one 
doesn’t fight as hard against a vanquished oppo¬ 
nent as against one who still threatens. Besides 
that, Leonard’s adversaries—there were two of 
them—were not difficult. On the whole, that game 
proved scarcely good practice for the home team. 

What had happened to Gordon Renneker was a 
question that many asked, for the former right 
guard was neither on the side-line or in the stand. 
Some insisted that he had accompanied the scouts 
to Lakeville, but that explanation was refused by 
others who had seen him at least an hour after 
dinner time. Leonard wondered and speculated, 
too, but it wasn’t until Johnny McGrath dropped 
in at Number 12 Haylow that evening, just as 


EIGHT GUARD GRANT 


235 


Slim and Leonard were starting for the movies, 
that the matter was cleared np for him. Jimsy 
Camochan, it seemed, had met Johnny on the 
street just before supper and confessed to having 
written to Coach Cade. 

“I guess he was sort of sorry he’d done it,” 
said Johnny, ‘‘but he wouldn’t say so. Maybe I 
didn’t read the riot-act to him, though! We 
nearly had a scrap! ’ ’ 

“I hope he chokes!” commented Slim bitterly. 
“That was a swell thing to do, just before the 
Kenly game! Leaves us flat for a right guard, 
and no time to find one. He ought to be—be—” 

“I guess it was more my fault than any one’s,” 
said Johnny regretfully. “I shouldn’t have 
lugged him to the game that time and let him 
see Renneker.” 

“You bet you shouldn’t,” agreed Slim heartily. 
But Leonard demurred. 

“Piffle,” he said, “Johnny isn’t to blame. 
Better blame Renneker for getting fresh the 
other night and getting Carnochan down on him. 
Maybe we’re taking too much for granted, any¬ 
way, fellows. Maybe Mr. Cade just kept Ren¬ 
neker out of to-day’s game while he looks into 
the business.” 

“Renneker wasn’t at training table for sup¬ 
per,” said Slim. “That means that he’s done 
for. I call it a pretty rotten piece of business!” 




236 RIGHT GUARD GRANT 

They lugged Johnny along to the pictures and 
discussed the matter very thoroughly both going 
and returning. Slim agreed eventually that 
maybe Leonard would hold down Renneker’s 
position satisfactorily, but they couldn’t get him 
to acknowledge that Mr. Cade had acted rightly 
in dismissing Renneker from the team. He said 
some very disapproving things of the coach, 
sneered at him for being a “Lily-white” and 
doubted that he or any one else could present ade¬ 
quate proof that Renneker had received money 
for playing baseball. Especially, however, he 
was bitter against Carnochan, and would have 
sought that gentleman out and presented him with 
a piece of his mind had not Leonard and Johnny 
dissuaded him. In the end they all agreed that 
it was up to them to keep what they knew to 
themselves, and by Monday they were very glad 
that they had, for Gordon Renneker was out on 
the field in togs coaching the guards and the news 
was abroad that he had been dropped because of 
difficulties with the Office. That was such a plau¬ 
sible explanation that no one doubted it, although 
one might have wondered how it was that he was 
allowed to aid in the coaching. The incident 
seemed to have made no great difference to Ren¬ 
neker. He was perhaps a bit more stand-offish 
than ever and inclined to sarcastic criticisms that 
seldom failed to get under the skin of Raleigh, 


RIGHT GUARD GRANT 237 

who, worried over his failure to make progress 
that fall, was in no mood for the big fellow’s 
caustic humor. That the two never quite came to 
blows was chiefly due to the fact that practice 
came to an end just before Raleigh’s patience did. 

Leonard had definitely taken Renneker’s posi¬ 
tion. Had Leonard had any doubt about it Coach 
Cade’s announcement on Tuesday would have 
dispelled it. 11 You ’ll start the Kenly game, 
Grant,” said the coach after practice that after¬ 
noon, “and I expect you to show me that I 
haven’t made a mistake in selecting you instead 
of Falls. You’ve done very well indeed so far. 
You play a fast, heady game, my boy, and I’ll say 
frankly that when you’ve two or three more 
inches and another twenty pounds on you you’ll 
be a mighty good guard. You’ve got faults, but 
I hope you’ll get rid of most of them by Saturday. 
Starting before the ball is one of them. Tenney 
has four cases marked against you, and just be¬ 
cause you’ve got by so far without being penalized 
doesn’t mean that you won’t get caught finally. 
And when an official once finds a player off-side 
he watches that player hard ever after; and 
sometimes he sees faults where there aren’t any, 
without meaning to. It’s just a case of giving a 
dog a bad name. I want you to steady down and 
look out for that trouble. Another thing, Grant, 
is over-eagerness to get through. It’s a good 


238 


RIGHT GUARD GRANT 


fault, if any fault can be said to be good, but it 
works against the play sometimes. Frequently 
you’re across tbe line when you ought to be still 
on your own side, which means that you’re out of 
the play when you might be helping it along. 
When you get your signal think what it means. 
Think where the play’s going and what your part 
is in it. Don’t break through and think after¬ 
wards, Grant. You’ve got a good nose for the 
ball, but don’t let it run away with you. It’s a 
fine thing to be able to put your man out and then 
get down the field under a punt, but we’ve got 
ends and backs to do that trick. Your part is to 
guard your center until the ball is passed, on 
attack, and then make the hole or stop the other 
"Yello w f rom coming through. In other words, 
you’re a bulldog first and a grayhound after¬ 
wards. Once you’ve done your duty thoroughly 
I don’t care how hard you go after the ball, but 
don’t skimp the duty. Sure first and then fast, 
ought to be your motto, my boy. How are you 
feeling?” 

“Fine,” answered Leonard stoutly. 

The coach smiled. “Good! What’s the matter 
with that ankle?” 

“Ankle?” repeated Leonard innocently. 

“Yes, the left one. You’ve been limping, you 
know.” 


EIGHT GUARD GRANT 239 

“Oh, that! Why, nothing at all, sir. I gave it 
a sort of a turn, you know.” 

“Tell the trainer to look at it, and don't for¬ 
get it.” 

Captain Emerson and his brother scouts had 
brought back scant information from the Kenly 
Hall-Rutledge game. Rutledge had been out¬ 
classed from the first, and, without showing too 
much of her possibilities, Kenly had piled up 16 
points against her while keeping her own goal 
intact. Kenly had made an average showing dur¬ 
ing the season. She had played one more game 
than Alton and had won all but two of them. 
Lorimer had beaten her decisively and Middle- 
boro had tied her at 7 to 7. She had, for her, a 
light team, but one that was capable of speed 
and versatility. She had specialized in forward¬ 
passing during the early part of the season, but 
of late had fallen back on line plays for her gains, 
although signs were not wanting that forward- 
passes were still in her repertory. Briefly, Kenly 
Hall School was rather more of a mystery to her 
ancient rival this year than she generally was, 
and, since it is human nature to fear the unknown, 
there was less confidence at Alton than was usual 
before the big game. 

The eleventh-hour loss of Gordon Renneker was 
a severe blow to most followers of the game at 


240 RIGHT GUARD GRANT 

Alton. There were many who believed, not a few 
very ardently, in Leonard Grant’s ability to com¬ 
pletely fill Renneker’s shoes, but they were in the 
minority. It stood to reason, naturally, that a 
youngster like Grant, lacking size, weight and 
experience could not wholly take the place of an 
All-Scholastic star. Leonard himself agreed with 
the majority. Oddly enough, Gordon Renneker 
did not. This was divulged on Wednesday when, 
after a half-hour of strenuous work for the 
guards and tackles and centers, the little squad 
returned to the bench and blankets to await their 
call to the scrimmage. Leonard found Renneker 
beside him when he had pulled the gray blanket 
around him. So far what might be called per¬ 
sonal intercourse between them had been limited 
to those few words exchanged in the taxicab on 
the occasion of their arrival at Alton two months 
before. Now, after a moment, Renneker said 
abruptly: 

“You’re going mighty well, Grant.” 

“Thanks,” Leonard stammered. In spite of 
himself, he still found it impossible not to be im¬ 
pressed and a bit awed by Renneker’s imper¬ 
turbable air of superiority. 

“I don’t see why you shouldn’t hold down that 
place as well as I could have done,” the other 
continued thoughtfully. “Hope so. Nasty trick, 
my getting dropped, Grant. I wouldn’t want the 


RIGHT GUARD GRANT 241 

team to sailer by it. I don’t fancy it will, though, 
if you play the way I think you can.” 

“Well, I don’t know,” muttered the other. 
“Aren’t you—isn’t there any chance of you get¬ 
ting in Saturday?” 

“Oh, dear, no,” replied Renneker calmly. “Not 
a chance.” 

“I’m sorry,” said Leonard. Renneker turned 
a slow glance on him. Then: “Thanks, but it’s of 
no consequence,” he said. 

He nodded carelessly, arose and sauntered 
away. 

Leonard wondered why he had asked such an 
idle question. He had known well enough that 
Renneker wouldn’t get back. He felt very sorry 
for him just then. 

Later, he told Slim what Renneker had said, 
and Slim frowned and grunted: “Mighty decent 
of him, I’ll say.” 

Leonard assented, but with too little enthusiasm 
to satisfy the other. “If it was me,” Slim went 
on, “I guess I wouldn’t be talking like that to 
you. I’d be feeling too sore about losing my 
position.” 

“Well, but it isn’t my fault he’s off the team,” 
objected Leonard, mildly. 

Slim grunted again. “Never mind; he’s off, 
and that’s what counts!” 

Leonard felt that there was something wrong 


242 RIGHT GUARD GRANT 

somewhere in Slim’s point of view, but he was too 
tired to pursue the matter. 

There was a short session against the second 
team on Thursday, and then the whistle blew for 
the last time, and the season on Alton Field was 
at an end. The second cheered and was cheered 
and, finally, followed by the onlookers, crossed 
back to their own field and started a fire. A bat¬ 
tered and discarded football, bearing a leering 
countenance painted on with white pigment, was 
set atop the pyre and the scrubs joined hands and 
danced riotously around it. The fact that the 
football subsided into ruins with only a faint 
sigh, instead of expiring with a resonant bang, 
was accepted as an ill omen of Saturday’s game. 
But the omen did not appear to affect the second 
team spirits appreciably! 

Friday was a day of rest, but there was an hour 
of signal drill in the gymnasium in the afternoon 
and a brief blackboard lecture by the coach in the 
evening. The latter was over by eight-fifteen, 
however, and afterwards Slim tried to persuade 
Leonard to accompany him to the final mass meet¬ 
ing in the auditorium. But Leonard had no mind 
for it, and Slim, realizing that his friend was 
having a mild attack of nerves, didn’t persist 
long. Going out, he stopped at the door to say: 
“I wouldn’t think too much about to-morrow, 


EIGHT GUARD GRANT 243 

General; about the game, you know. Better get 
a good story and read. I’ll be back soon.” 

Leonard was willing to follow the other’s ad¬ 
vice, but it wasn’t so easy. And when he looked 
for the good story it wasn’t to be found. At 
length he decided to walk over to the library and 
get a book, although, since the auditorium was 
above the library, he had no intention of tarrying 
there. It was a nice night, just frostily cold and 
with a couple of trillions of white stars winking 
away in a blue-black sky. Even with his mack¬ 
inaw unbuttoned he was quite comfortable. Long 
before he neared Memorial he could hear the 
singing. 

1 ‘Cheer for the Gray-and-Gold! 

Flag of the brave and bold—” 

A long, measured cheer followed the last strain, 
and then came silence. No, not silence, for 
Leonard was close to the building now and could 
hear at intervals a word or two. Some one was 
speaking. There was a sudden burst of applause, 
quickly suppressed. Then he was entering the 
library. The long room with its mellow warmth 
and its two rows of cone-shaped green shades was 
deserted save for the presence in a corner of a 
small freshman hunched absorbedly over a book. 
Leonard paused outside the door, suddenly dis- 


244 RIGHT GUARD GRANT 

tasteful of libraries and books. Then he turned 
back and went down the steps again. It was far 
nicer outdoors, he thought. He would cross the 
grass to River street and walk around by Acad¬ 
emy and Meadow to the farther gate. Probably by 
the time he reached the room again Slim would 
have returned, and then he could go to bed. Not, 
however, that bed held any great appeal, for he 
was quite sure he wouldn’t be able to get to sleep 
for hours. 

Short of the first street light, that on the corner, 
he descried a shape ahead of him. Some one 
else, it appeared, scorned indoors to-night. The 
shape was tall and broad, and Leonard suspected 
one of the faculty, perhaps Mr. Screven, and 
hoped that he could get by without having to say 
more than ‘ ‘ Good evening. ’ ’ He couldn’t imagine 
anything more deadly than being obliged to loll 
along and listen to Mr. Screven’s monotonous 
voice. But, a few paces behind now, he saw that 
the solitary pedestrian was not Mr. Screven, was 
not, indeed, a faculty at all, but Gordon Renneker. 


CHAPTER XXI 


RENNEKER EXPLAINS 

Leonard was still assimilating that fact when 
Renneker turned and recognized him in the light 
of the corner lamp. “Hello, Grant,’’ said the big 
fellow. There seemed to Leonard a tone of almost 
friendliness in that greeting. 

‘ 4 Hello, ’’ he answered. He wanted to add some¬ 
thing else, something about the weather, but it 
wouldn’t come. It was the other who supplied 
the conventional observation. 

“Corking night,” said Renneker. “It looks 
like a fine day for the game to-morrow.” 

They were side by side now. Leonard won¬ 
dered whether he should go on, maintaining his 
own pace, or slow down and suit his steps to Ren¬ 
neker’s. It was sort of embarrassing, he thought. 
He agreed about the weather and Renneker spoke 
again. 

“I suppose you’re trying to walk them off,” 
he said. 

“Walk them off?” echoed Leonard. There 
seemed nothing to do save fall in step with the 
other. 


245 


246 EIGHT GUARD GRANT 

“Nerves,” explained Renneker. “Guess that’s 
what I’m doing myself.” 

“Oh,” said Leonard a bit sheepishly. “Yes, 
I—-I guess I am. At least, I suppose it’s nerves. 
Slim wanted me to go to the mass meeting, hut 
I sort of hated being with that howling mob 
to-night. ’ ’ 

“Exactly.” They had reached the corner and 
with one consent turned now and went slowly 
along Academy street. “Funny how panicky you 
can get the night before a game,” mused Ren¬ 
neker. 

Leonard laughed incredulously. “I can’t im¬ 
agine you ever getting like that,” he said. 

“I do, though,” replied the other in his even 
voice. “Always have. Of course, it’s absolute 
rot, because you know that just as soon as the 
whistle blows you’re going to be perfectly all 
right again.” 

“Wish I knew that,” answered Leonard. 

“You do, only you can’t remember it.” There 
was a silence then while Leonard tried to digest 
that statement. Then Renneker went on. “It’s 
rather absurd for me to be feeling jumpy to-night, 
for I’m not going to play. Must be just habit, I 
suppose. Queer.” 

“I wish you were going to play,” said Leonard 
with such evident sincerity that Renneker looked 
down curiously at him. 


RENNEKER EXPLAINS 247 

“You do? I shouldn’t think you would.” He 
laughed shortly. “You might be out of it your¬ 
self if I did, Grant.” 

“I know, but—well, it’s just sort of an accident 
with me, while you really belong, Renneker. I 
don’t suppose that sounds very clear.” 

“Oh, yes. Well, I guess you’ll get on all right, 
Grant. If you do, it won’t matter much about 
me. Of course, I am disappointed, hang it! The 
whole silly thing is so—so—” He seemed almost 
on the point of becoming agitated, which was per¬ 
haps why he stopped abruptly. After a moment 
he continued with a note of amusement. “Really, 
Grant, I don’t know why I’m chattering to you 
like this. I don’t believe we ever spoke before 
yesterday. It must be the nerves!” 

“Oh, yes, we have,” answered Leonard. 
“Spoken, I mean. We came up from the station 
together that first day.” 

“We did?” Renneker seemed to be searching 
his memory. “Oh, then you were that chap in 
the taxi. I’d forgotten.” 

Leonard believed it. “I guess talking sort of 
does a fellow good,” he said after a moment. 
“When he’s jumpy, I mean.” 

“I dare say.” There was silence again while 
they came to the main gate and passed it un- 
heedingly. Across Academy street the light in 
Coach Cade’s front room was turned down. “I 




248 


RIGHT GUARD GRANT 


suppose he’s at the meeting,’’ said Renneker. 
“Sort of a decent chap, Cade.” 

“Yes,” agreed Leonard, “I think so. All the 
fellows seem to like him.” 

“Including me?” asked Renneker dryly. 

“Why, I don’t now,” stammered Leonard. 
“Yes, I guess so. It wasn’t his fault, after 
all, was it? I mean I suppose he had to do it.” 

“Do what?” asked Renneker, peering down. 

“Why,” floundered Leonard, “I mean he had 
to—to do his duty. Stick to rules, you know. He 
wasn’t—” 

“Then you think it was Johnny who put me 
off?” 

Leonard pulled up with a start. He wasn’t sup¬ 
posed to know a thing, and here he had been giv¬ 
ing himself away. He sought for a way out. Ren¬ 
neker broke the silence. 

“Look here, Grant, I don’t get this at all. Has 
Mr. Cade been talking?” 

“No, not to me, at any rate.” 

“Well, somebody has,” pursued Renneker 
grimly. “What have you heard, Grant? I wish 
you’d tell me.” 

After an instant’s hesitation Leonard did so. 
Renneker listened in silence. “None of us have 
breathed a word of it,” concluded the speaker 
earnestly. “Only Carnochan, and he was sore 
because of that scrap.” 


RENNEKER EXPLAINS 249 

“Scrap be blowed,” said Renneker. 4 ‘There 
wasn’t any scrap. Those fellows pushed into ns 
and we had some words, merely joking. Then 
this fellow suddenly jumped at Reilly and tried 
to punch him and I stepped in the way and got 
the punch. I told him to behave and he jabbed 
at me again. Then I gave him one in the ribs. 
That’s all there was to it. As far as we were 
concerned, the whole thing was a joke, but that 
crazy Irishman lost his temper, I guess.” 

“Yes,” said Leonard, “I guess, from what 
Johnny says, that he’s sort of hot-headed.” 

“Decidedly! And his hot-headedness has played 
the dickens with me, Grant. Look here, are you 
in a hurry? Let’s sit down a minute. You’ve 
heard part of the story, and I’d like to tell you 
the rest of it. It’ll do me good to get it off my 
chest to some one, I fancy.” 

They swung themselves to the top rail of the 
fence in the shadow between two lights and Ren¬ 
neker went on. 

“This is confidential, Grant. I’d rather you 
didn’t say anything about it to any one, if you 
don’t mind. It might make worse trouble if it 
got around. Thanks. Now, let’s see. I think I’d 
better start at the beginning. I dare say you’ve 
heard that I got a bit of a reputation at Castle 
City High as a guard. We have pretty good 
teams there, and we generally manage to lick 







250 


RIGHT GUARD GRANT 


about every one we go up against. I don’t be¬ 
lieve I was much better than half a dozen other 
chaps on our team, last year or the year before, 
but it sort of got around that I was good and the 
New York papers played me up. There’s a fellow 
named Cravath who lives in my town and he went 
to school here at Alton. Last summer he got 
after me. Told me about Alton and how much 
more of a chance there was for me here. I liked 
the high school well enough, but I’d always had 
an idea that I’d prefer a prep school. Besides, 
when it comes to going to college it’s a help if 
you go up from a well-known school like Alton. 
We haven’t much money; the family I mean. 
Father used to be very well off some six or eight 
years ago, and we grew up rather free-handed, us 
kids. Then he lost it. Quite a spectacular bust- 
up, Grant, but it wouldn’t interest you. What 
I’m getting at is that when it came to a question 

i 

of coming here for two years the lot of us had to 
do some figuring. 

“There are three of us; George, who is the 
oldest—two years older than me—Grace, who 
comes in between, and me. George was starting 
college this fall, and Grace is in school in New 
York. So there wasn’t an awful lot of money for 
me, you see. Oh, well, that hasn’t much to do 
with it. I’m making a beastly long story of this. 
Anyway, father managed to get hold of some 


RENNEKER EXPLAINS 251 

money and said I could come up here, although 
he wasn’t very keen about it, I fancy. And I 
came. I knew that the reason Dick Cravath was 
so anxious to get me here was because I could 
play football, and I intended making good. But 
I haven’t done it. Oh, I’ve played, but I haven’t 
played the way I should, or the way I can, Grant, 
j And I guess the main reason was because this 
thing’s been hanging over my head all the time. 
I’ve been waiting for it to break ever since the 
day I came up from New York.” 

“Then,” exclaimed Leonard, “you knew that— 
that Johnny McGrath— But you couldn’t have!’’ 

“No, all I knew was what I got from a pimply¬ 
faced fellow who sold papers and magazines on 
the train. I bought a magazine from him and he 
looked me over and winked. ‘Say, I know you, 
all right,’ he told me. ‘You’re Ralston. I saw 
you play in a game in New London.’ I told him 
he was wrong, but he wouldn’t have it that way. 
He told me all about the game. Even knew how 
much money the club there had paid me for play¬ 
ing first base. I let him talk, because I wanted to 
learn what he knew. When he told me I’d played 
against a team called the Crescents from this 
town I knew I was in for trouble. I was pretty 
sure that sooner or later some chap who had 
played with the Crescents would see me and rec¬ 
ognize me. Well, I fancy that got on my mind, 



252 


EIGHT GUARD GRANT 


Grant. In fact, I know it did. I couldn’t seem 
to play the way I played last year. Of course, I 
might have turned around when I got here that 
day and gone back, after getting that story from 
the train-boy, but—oh, well, you always trust to 
the off chance. I don’t know now whether I’m 
sorry or not that I didn’t turn back. I’m out of 
football this year, but I like the school, and I’ve 
met some nice fellows. I—don’t know.” Ren- 
neker’s voice dwindled into silence. 

Nine o’clock struck from a church tower. 
Leonard sat, none too comfortably, on the an¬ 
gular rail and puzzled. All through his narra¬ 
tive his companion had sounded an under note 
of resentment, as though Fate had dealt unjustly 
with him. Of course, it was hard luck to get 
dropped from the team as Renneker had, but after 
all he had no one to blame but himself. Leonard 
sought an answer to one of the features of the 
story that puzzled him. 

“You didn’t know the Crescents came from 
here, then?” he asked. “I mean the day you 
played against them at New London.” 

“What? Oh! No, I didn’t know that, Grant, 
because, you see, I wasn’t there.” 

“You weren’t—where?” inquired Leonard 
blankly. 

“At New London,” replied Renneker calmly. 

“Then how—” Leonard blinked at the other 


RENNEKER EXPLAINS 253 

in the gloom. “But you’ve said you were! If 
you weren’t at New London, how did you play 
first base for the—the Maple Leaf nine!” 

“I didn’t.” 

Leonard laughed flatly. “I guess I’m stupid,” 
he said. 

“I’ve got your promise that this goes no fur¬ 
ther!” asked Renneker. Leonard nodded vigor¬ 
ously. “All right. I didn’t play on that team, 
Grant. I couldn’t. I’m no good at all at base¬ 
ball. That was my brother.” 

“Your brother!” exclaimed Leonard. 

“Yes. He looks like me, a whole lot like me, 
although if you saw us together you wouldn’t be 
fooled long. He’s two years older than I am, 
nearly three, and he’s an inch taller but not quite 
so heavy. His name is George Ralston Renneker, 
Ralston after my mother’s folks. That’s why I 
knew what was up when the train boy put that 
name on me. George is—oh, he’s all right, Grant, 
but he’s a nut. Sort of crazy about some things. 
We’ve always been great pals, but I’ve bawled 
him out a thousand times. He hasn’t any idea 
about the value of money and he keeps right on 
spending it just as if we still had it. When he 
gets flat and father won’t come across he goes off 
and plays baseball or hockey or anything to get 
some coin. He can do just about anything fairly 
well, you see. I suppose it isn’t always just the 







254 


RIGHT GUARD GRANT 


money, either, for he’s nuts on all sorts of sports, 
and he has to keep going at something or bust. 
Once he rode in a steeplechase near home and got 
thrown and had a couple of ribs broken. There 
wasn’t any money in it that time. He just did it 
for fun, for the adventure. I fancy he’d jump 
off the Woolworth Tower with an umbrella if 
there was enough money waiting him below! 
Sometimes he makes quite a lot of money. Once 
he drew down a hundred and fifty for a ten-round 
preliminary bout over in Philadelphia. He boxes 
rather better than he does anything, I fancy. He 
was the ‘Trenton Kid’ that night. Usually he 
goes under the name of George Ralston. He’s a 
nut, Grant.” 

Leonard digested this remarkable information 
in silence for a moment. Then: “But if it wasn’t 
you, Renneker,” he exclaimed, “why did you let 
them drop you from the team? I don’t see 
that.” 

“You will in a minute,” answered the other 
patiently. “George is at—well, never mind the 
college; it’s not more than a hundred miles from 
here. This is his first year. I dare say it will 
be his last, too, for he doesn’t stick long. He 
went to three schools. But I don’t want him to 
get in trouble if I can help it. He’s out for base¬ 
ball and track already, and he will probably try 
hockey, too. If this thing got around he’d be 


RENNEKER EXPLAINS 


255 


dished, and it would mean a lot more to him than 
it did to me. Of course, you can say that I’m 
compounding a felony or something, but I don’t 
care if you do. I realize that George hasn’t any 
right to take part in athletics at his college, but 
that’s between him and his own conscience. I’m 
not going to be the one to queer him. I’ve known 
all along that when this thing broke it would be 
up to me to be the goat. Well, it did. And I 
am.” 

Leonard shook his head. 44 It isn’t right, 
though, Renneker. It puts you out of football— 
and everything else, for that matter—this year 
and next. Why, even when you go up to college 
this thing will follow you, I guess!” 

44 Well, I’m rather expecting that by next fall 
I can tell the truth,” answered Renneker. 44 It 
isn’t likely that poor old George will last more 
than his freshman year without getting found 
out. If they have something else on him one 
more thing won’t matter, I guess. Anyway, I 
mean to keep in training on the chance of it.” 

44 Does he know about it?” asked Leonard pres¬ 
ently. 44 That you’re taking the blame for this 
and have lost your place on the team?” 

44 Oh, no. What’s the use of worrying him 
about it? He’d be just idiot enough to give the 
snap away and spoil his own fun.” 

44 Serve him right,” said Leonard indignantly. 




256 


EIGHT GUAED GEANT 


'“I think it’s a rotten shame that you’ve got to 
suffer for his—his misdoings!” 

“Oh, well, it isn’t as bad as that. I guess I’ve 
groused a good deal, Grant, but, after all, I’m 
glad to do it for the old coot. He’d do anything 
in the world for me without batting an eye-lid. 
Besides, I’m feeling quite a lot better now that 
I’ve unburdened my mind to some one. Talk does 
help a lot sometimes, and I fancy Providence 
must have sent you forth to-night to hear my tale 
of woe. Much obliged, really, for being so pa¬ 
tient, my dear chap.” 

“Don’t be an ass,” begged Leonard. Half an 
hour before he would have gasped at the idea of 
inferring that Eenneker was an ass, but just now 
it didn’t even occur to him. “I was glad to 
listen. Just the same, Eenneker, you are acting 
wrong in this business. I suppose I can’t con¬ 
vince you—” 

“Afraid not, Grant.” 

“—but it’s a fact, just the same. Aside from 
everything else, you owe something to the team 
and the School, and you’re letting them both down 
when you do this thing. You—you’re endanger¬ 
ing to-morrow’s game, and—” 

“I’ve thought of all that, Grant, and I don’t 
agree with you. My own people come before the 
School or the team—” 

“But, Great Scott,” interrupted Leonard im- 


RENNEKER EXPLAINS 257 

patiently, “in this case yonr own people, your 
brother, I mean, is in the wrong! You’re helping 
him to get away with something that isn’t—” 

“Absolutely, but when it is your brother that 
doesn’t count much with you.” 

“It ought to,” muttered Leonard. 

“Possibly, but it doesn’t. As for to-morrow’s 
game, Grant, I’m absolutely sincere when I say 
that I believe you will do just as well as I’d have 
done.” 

“That’s nonsense,” Leonard protested. 

“No, it isn’t, really. I haven’t been playing 
much of a game this fall. I’ve just managed to 
keep my position, and that’s about all. Johnny 
Cade has been on the point of dropping me into 
the subs lots of times. I’ve seen it and I’ve had 
to act haughty and pull a bluff to keep him from 
doing it.” 

“That’s all right,” persisted the younger boy 
doggedly, “but you say yourself that was because 
this business was hanging over you. Well, it 
isn’t hanging over you any longer, and there’s no 
reason why you shouldn’t play to-morrow as well 
as you’ve ever played. Now, isn’t that so?” 

“My dear chap,” replied Renneker, smoothly 
evasive, “you ought to be a prosecuting attorney 
or something. I say, what time is it getting to 
be? You fellows are supposed to be in hall by 
nine-thirty. ’ ’ 


258 


RIGHT GUARD GRANT 


“It isn’t that yet,” answered Leonard. But he 
slid down from the fence and fell into step beside 
the other. He tried very hard to think of some¬ 
thing that would persuade Renneker out of this 
pig-headed, idiotic course. He grudgingly ad¬ 
mired the big fellow for what he had done. It 
was chivalrous and generous and all that sort of 
thing, this business of being the goat for Brother 
George, but Leonard didn’t know Brother George 
and he couldn’t summon any sympathy for him. 
When he did speak again they were well up the 
broad path to Academy Hall, and what he said 
wasn’t at all what he had sought for. 

“I do wish you’d think this over to-night, Ren¬ 
neker,” he pleaded. 

“My dear chap,” replied the other very pa¬ 
tiently and kindly, “you mustn’t think any more 
about it. It’s all settled, and there’s no harm 
done. If you keep on, you know, you’ll make me 
sorry I confided in you.” Renneker laughed 
softly. 

“I don’t care,” persisted Leonard weakly. 
“It’s a rotten shame!” Then an idea came to 
him. “Look here,” he exclaimed, “what’s to 
keep me from telling Johnny!” 

“Not a thing,” was the cool response, “except 
your promise not to.” 

Leonard growled inarticulately. 

In front of Academy they parted, Renneker to 


RENNEKER EXPLAINS 


259 


seek his room in Upton, and Leonard to take the 
other direction. The mass meeting was over and 
the fellows were pouring out from Memorial, still 
noisily enthusiastic. “Well, I hope I haven’t 
added to your nerves, Grant,” said Renneker. 
“Just remember that when the whistle blows you 
won’t have any, and that having them now con¬ 
sequently doesn’t matter one iota. That may 
help. I’m in Upton, you know; Number 9. Come 
in and see me some time, won’t you? Good 
night. ’ ’ 

“Good night,” replied Leonard. He had diffi¬ 
culty making his voice sound disapproving, hut 
he managed it after a fashion. Renneker laughed 
as he turned away. 

“Try to forget my faults, Grant,” he called 
back, “and think only of my many virtues!” 

Upstairs in Number 12 Slim was displaying a 
hurt expression. He had left the meeting when 
it was no more than half over to hurry back and 
stroke the other’s head, he explained, and here 
the other was gallivanting around the campus! 
Leonard apologized. He did not, however, men¬ 
tion Renneker. Why, he couldn’t have told. 




CHAPTER XXII 


BEFORE THE BATTLE 

The squad, thirty-one in all, including coaches, 
managers, trainer and rubbers, left Alton the 
next forenoon at a little after ten o’clock. About 
every one else around the academy took the train 
that left at twelve-eight, partaking of an early 
and hurried dinner at half-past eleven. As very 
few were at all concerned with food just then, 
being much too excited, no one missed the train. 

Unexpectedly, Leonard had slept exceedingly 
sound and for a full eight hours and a half. 
He had lain awake no later than eleven, while*Slim, 
though more of a veteran, had heard midnight 
strike, as he aggrievedly proclaimed in the morn¬ 
ing. Possibly it was that conversation with Gor¬ 
don Renneker that was to be credited with Leon¬ 
ard’s early and sound slumber, for Renneker’s 
affairs had driven all thoughts of Leonard’s from 
the latter’s mind, and instead of being nervous 
and jumpy he had been merely impatient and in¬ 
dignant—and sometimes admiring—and had made 
himself sleepy trying to think up some way of in¬ 
ducing Renneker to stop being a Don Quixote and 
act like a rational human being. He hadn’t solved 

his problem, but he had sent himself to sleep. 

260 


BEFORE THE BATTLE 261 

Renneker, having worked hard if briefly at 
coaching the linemen, went along with the squad. 
So, too, did Mr. Fadden, who, having wrestled 
with the problem of the second team for some five 
weeks, was now in position to act, in an advisory 
capacity, as Mr. Cade’s assistant. In the hustle 
for seats in the special car that had been tacked 
onto the long train for the accommodation of the 
team, Leonard and his suit-case got tucked into 
a corner of a seat near the rear door, escape, had 
he desired it, being prevented by the generous bulk 
of Jim Newton. He and Jim talked a little, but 
the center had supplied himself with a New York 
morning paper at the station and was soon deep 
in a frowning perusal of the football news. That 
Renneker would change his mind, make a clean 
breast of everything and come back into the fold 
was something Leonard had hoped for up to the 
last moment of leaving school. But he hadn’t done 
anything of the sort. That was proved by the fact 
that he carried no bag. You couldn’t quite vision 
Gordon Renneker facing Kenly Hall on the foot¬ 
ball gridiron in an immaculate suit of blue serge, 
a pale yellow shirt and black-and-white sport 
shoes! So Leonard’s hopes went glimmering, and 
when Renneker, passing him on the platform, nod¬ 
ded and said, “Hi, old chap!” Leonard just 
grunted and scowled his disappointment. 

The day was a lot colder than the evening had 





262 


RIGHT GUARD GRANT 


presaged, but it was fair and there were few 
clouds in the very blue sky. The car, like most 
railway cars, was incapable of compromise in the 
matter of temperature. Since it was not freezing 
cold it was tropically hot. Squeezed in there by 
the steam pipes, with Jim Newton overflowing 
on him, Leonard suffered as long as possible and 
then forced a way past the grunting Newton and 
sought the water tank. Of course the water was 
close to the temperature of the car, but that was 
to be expected. At least, it was wet. After two 
drinks from the razor-like edge of a paper cup 
that was enough to make one long for the un¬ 
hygienic days of old, he went forward, resisting 
the blandishments of those who would have de¬ 
tained him, and passed into the car ahead. There 
were plenty of seats here, and, although that may 
have been just his imagination, the car seemed 
cooler by several degrees. It wasn’t until he had 
slammed the door behind him that he saw Gordon 
Renneker in the first seat at the left. Renneker 
looked up, nodded and moved slightly closer to 
the window. Of course, Leonard reflected, he 
thinks I saw him come in here and have followed 
him on purpose. Well, I’ll show him! 

“ Hello,” he said aloud, taking the seat after 
a moment of seeming indecision, “I didn’t know 
you were in here. It got so hot back there that I 
had to get out.” 


263 


BEFOEE THE BATTLE 

“I came in here,’ 7 replied Eenneker, “because 
Mr. Fadden insisted on telling' me bow much bet¬ 
ter football was played in bis day. It seems, 
Grant, tliat ten or twenty years ago every team 
consisted of eleven Olympians. Every man Jack 
was a star of the first magnitude and a Prince 
among fellows. Fadden says so. Why, every 
blessed one of the chaps who played on his team 
in college is to-day either President of the United 
States or president of one of the big railroad sys¬ 
tems. Every one, that is, except Fadden. I don’t 
know what happened to him. He seems to have 
been the only mediocre chap in the bunch. I must 
ask him about that some time,” Eenneker ended 
musingly. 

Leonard laughed in spite of himself. He hadn’t 
wanted to laugh. He had wanted to make Een¬ 
neker understand clearly that he was still as 
strongly disapproving of his conduct as ever. But 
Eenneker was sort of different to-day. He was 
lighter-hearted and even facetious, it appeared. 
Leonard had to thaw. They talked about the game 
for a few minutes, but neither introduced the sub¬ 
ject of last evening’s talk until, as though suddenly 
reminded, Eenneker said: “By the way, Grant, re¬ 
member what we were talking about last night? 
What I was, that is! ” He laughed gently and put 
a hand into a pocket of his coat. “Well, I want 
you to read this. It’s rather a joke on me, and 


264 


RIGHT GUARD GRANT 


you’ll probably enjoy it hugely. This came by 
this morning’s mail.” 

He produced an envelope from his pocket and 
took forth a single sheet of twice-folded paper 
and handed it to Leonard. “Read it,” he said. 
Leonard opened it and saw, at the top, the name, 
in none too modest characters, of a New York 
hotel. Then he read: 

“Dear Gordie: 

“Well, we’re off again, old timer. Came down last 
night and leave in about twenty minutes for Louisiana. 
Saved the faculty the trouble of bouncing me. It was 
only an innocent childish prank, but you know how 
faculties are. Four of our crowd didn’t like the show 
at the theatre and quit it cold after the first act. There 
was a car outside that looked good, and the fellow who 
belonged to it hadn’t anchored it or locked it or any¬ 
thing. So we thought we’d take a little spin and come 
back before the show was over. How, I ask you, were 
we to know that the owner couldn’t stand the show 
either? Well, he came out and couldn’t find his bus and 
squealed to the police and they telephoned all around 
and a cop on a motor cycle pulled us in about six miles 
out and took us back to the station. If the guy had 
been the right sort it would have been O.K., but he was 
a sour-faced pill without an ounce of compassion and 
insisted on making a charge against us. We got bail 
all right, and yesterday morning the trifling matter was 
settled on a money basis, but the dickens of it was that 
faculty got hep and we had our rather and chose to 
resign instead of getting fired. Townsend’s father has 







BEFORE THE BATTLE 265 

a rice farm or plantation or something in Louisiana and 
he’s going to get me a job. There’ll be lots of riding, 
he says, and I guess it’ll keep me going until I can look 
around. We’re starting down there at eleven-thirty. 
I’ll write when I reach the place and send the address. 
I’ve forgotten the name of the town and Jim’s out get¬ 
ting tickets. I’ve written to Dad, but you might drop 
him a line, too, old timer. You know what to say, you 
were always the diplomat of the family. I’ll be fixed 
for coin, so he won’t have to worry about that. Hope 
everything is hunky with you, dear old pal. 

“Your aff. brother, 

‘ ‘ George. ’ ’ 

Leonard returned the epistle, staring at Ren- 
neker blankly. The latter laughed. “I might 
have known he couldn’t stick,” he said. “It’s 
just like the crazy coot to have it happen a week 
too late, too. If he’d skipped Thursday before 
last instead of this Thursday—” Renneker shook 
his head in comic resignation. 

“But—but—but,” stammered Leonard, “you 
can play to-day, can’t you? All you’ve got to do 
is tell Mr. Cade!” 

“My dear chap,” remonstrated the other, “one 
doesn’t upset the arrangements at the last mo¬ 
ment. Oh, I did consider it, but, pshaw, what 
would be the good? Everything’s fixed and if I 
butted in I’d just muddle things horribly. Be¬ 
sides, I really haven’t the courage to try to ex¬ 
plain it all in the brief time remaining. But, 





266 


RIGHT GUARD GRANT 


honest, Grant, it is a sort of a ghastly joke, isn’t 
it? Why don’t you laugh, you sober-face? I 
thought it would amuse you!” 

Leonard viewed him scathingly. “Honest, Ren- 
neker,” he replied with slow and painstaking 
enunciation, “you give me an acute pain!” 

Renneker smiled more broadly. “Good boy! 
Speak your mind! However, if you’ll stop being 
peeved and think a minute you’ll see that it 
wouldn’t do to upset Johnny’s apple-cart at this 
late hour. Besides, I haven’t brought my togs, 
and couldn’t play decently if I had. Why, I 
haven’t practiced for a week, Grant.” 

“You don’t need practice,” responded Leonard 
earnestly. “A fellow like you—” 

“The dickens I don’t!” scoffed Renneker. 
“I’m as stiff as a crutch. Be a good fellow, 
Grant, and stop scolding.” Renneker looked at 
the letter in his hand, returned it to its envelope 
and placed it back in his pocket with a smile of 
resignation. “Just plain nut,” he said. “That’s 
what he is.” 

Leonard, watching, was suddenly realizing that 
this new acquaintance of his was a very likeable 
chap and that, although he did feel thoroughly 
out of patience with him just now, he was getting 
to have a sort of affection for him. Of course he 
wouldn’t have had Renneker suspect the fact for 
an instant, but there it was! The big fellow’s 







BEFORE THE BATTLE 267 

story seemed to explain a good deal, such as, for 
instance, that the calm superiority affected by 
him had really been a blind to conceal the fact 
that he was secretly in a state of nervous appre¬ 
hension, in short a colossal bluff that not even 
Coach Cade had had the nerve to call! It must 
have been, Leonard reflected sympathetically, 
rather a job to play good football and know 
that at any moment exposure might occur. And, 
after all, that letter of George Renneker’s had 
rather won Leonard. Of course the fellow was 
an irresponsible, hair-brained ass, but, neverthe¬ 
less, the reader had seemed to find something 
likeable in the writer of that amazing epistle, and 
he understood somewhat better why Gordon had 
felt it worth while to protect George even at the 
cost of his own undoing. He wasn’t frowning 
any longer when Renneker looked back from a 
momentary inspection of the flying landscape be¬ 
yond the car window. Renneker must have noted 
the change, for he asked: 

“Decided to overlook my transgressions?” 

Leonard nodded, smiling faintly. “Yes, al¬ 
though I still think you ’re all wrong. Let me tell 
you one thing, too. If—if”—he stumbled a little 
there—“if you’re doing this because you think 
I’d be—be disappointed about not playing, Ren¬ 
neker, you can just quit it right now. I never 
expected to play in this game—anyhow, I haven’t 



268 


RIGHT GUARD GRANT 


for a good while—and it won’t mean a thing to 
me if I don’t. So if that’s it, or if that has any¬ 
thing to do with it—” 

“My dear chap,” replied Renneker soothingly, 
“when you know me better you’ll realize that 
I’m not a Sir Launcelot or a—a Galahad. Rest 
quite easy.” 

It wasn’t, though, a positive denial, and Leon¬ 
ard was by no means convinced. He looked 
doubtfully, even suspiciously at the somewhat 
quizzical countenance of the other and subsided. 
And then a trainman banged open a door and 
shouted “La-a-akeville! Lakeville!” and Leon¬ 
ard hurried back for his suit-case. 

They went to the hotel for luncheon, walking 
up from the station and pretending they didn’t 
know that they were objects of interest all the 
way along the five blocks. There remained the 
better part of an hour before the meal was to be 
served, and after depositing their bags in the 
room that was to serve them for dressing pur¬ 
poses, most of the party descended again to the 
street and set off to see the town. Slim claimed 
Leonard as his companion, but Leonard begged 
off rather mysteriously and Slim set out a trifle 
huffily in company with Appel and Menge. 
Leonard then set out to find Mr. Cade, and after 
several unsuccessful inquiries had failed to dis- 


BEFORE THE BATTLE 


269 


cover that gentleman, Tod Tenney came skip¬ 
ping down the stairs and, his escape blocked by 
Leonard, revealed the fact that Mr. Cade and 
Mr. Fadden were in Room 17. Leonard, likewise 
scorning the snail-like elevator, climbed the stairs 
and found the room. Mr. Cade’s voice answered 
his knock. The coach and his associate were sit¬ 
ting in straight-hack chairs in front of a long 
window, their feet on the sill and pipes going 
busily. Mr. Fadden looked around, waving the 
smoke clouds from before him with the newspaper 
he held, and said sotto voce: “One of the boys, 
Cade.” 

“Can I speak to you a moment, sir?” asked 
Leonard. 

Mr. Cade’s feet came down from the sill with 
a bang and he swung around. “Oh, hello, Grant! 
Why, certainly. Anything wrong?” 

“No, sir. It’s about—” He hesitated and 
glanced dubiously at Mr. Fadden. 

“Oh, that’s all right,” laughed Mr. Cade. 
“You can speak before Mr. Fadden. Pull up 
that chair and sit down first.” 

Leonard obeyed, occupying, however, only some 
six inches of the chair’s surface. “It’s about 
Gordon Renneker, sir,” he began again. 

“Renneker?” The coach looked interested at 
once. “What about Renneker, Grant?” 


270 


RIGHT GUARD GRANT 


“Well—” Leonard stopped and started anew: 
“Wouldn’t it help us a lot, Mr. Cade, if he played 
to-day ?” 

“Probably, but I thought it was understood 
that Renneker was—er—out of football. What’s 
on your mind?” 

“I can’t explain it very well,” answered Leon¬ 
ard, “because I promised not to speak about— 
about part of it. That makes it—difficult.” He 
looked at Mr. Cade and then at Mr. Fadden as 
though seeking assistance. Mr. Cade frowned 
perplexedly. 

“I’m afraid I can’t help you, Grant, for I don’t 
know what you’re trying to get at. If you’re 
troubled about Renneker not playing, why, I’ll 
have to tell you that there isn’t anything you can 
do about that. We’re looking for you to see to 
it that he isn’t missed, Grant. And we think you 
can do it.” 

Leonard shook his head. “That isn’t it, sir. I 
know something that I can’t tell, because I prom¬ 
ised not to.” He stopped and strove to arrange 
matters in his mind. He wished he had composed 
a statement before coming. Regarding all that 
Renneker had revealed to him last evening his 
lips were sealed. It was only about what had 
transpired this morning that he was not sworn 
to silence. It was, though, hard to keep the two 
apart, and he didn’t want to break his promise. 



BEFORE THE BATTLE 


271 


Mr. Cade, watching him intently, waited in pa¬ 
tience. Mr. Fadden puffed hard at his pipe, 
silently friendly. Leonard rushed the hurdle. 

“If you’ll tell Renneker that you want to read 
a letter he received this morning, sir,” he blurted, 

4 ‘ you hi understand.” 

“Tell him I want to read a letter he received!” 
repeated the coach in puzzled tones. “But why 
should I, Grant!” 

“Why, because when you do read it, and Ren¬ 
neker has explained it, you—he—why, sir, he can 
play this afternoon!” 

“Oh!” said Mr. Cade thoughtfully. After an 
instant he said: “Look here, Grant, you must 
know a whole lot about this business of Ren¬ 
neker^.” 

Leonard nodded. “Yes, sir, I know all about 
it. I—I knew about it before you did.” 

The coach gazed at him curiously, opened his 
lips as if to speak, closed them again and glanced 
questioningly at Mr. Fadden. 

“Better see Renneker and get it cleared up,” 
said the second team coach oracularly. “Where 
there’s so much smoke there must be some fire. 
Let’s get at it.” 

“All right.” He turned to Leonard again. “I 
suppose you realize that if Renneker plays right 
guard to-day you don’t, Grant. At least, not 
long, probably.” 



272 


RIGHT GUARD GRANT 


“Yes, sir, but Renneker’s a lot better than I 
am, and if he can play it doesn’t matter about me, 
does it?” 

“H’m, no, I suppose it doesn’t. Well, I’m much 
obliged to you, my boy. Whether anything comes 
of this or doesn’t, I quite understand that you’ve 
tried to help us. Do you know where Renneker 
is just now?” 

“No, sir, not exactly. He went out right after 
we reached the hotel. I—I guess I could find 
him.” 

“Do it, will you? Tell him—tell him whatever 
you think best. You know more about this mys¬ 
tery than we do. Only see that he gets here right 
away. Thanks, Grant.” 

“Could I tell him that you and Mr. Fadden 
want to see him to talk to him about the game?” 
asked Leonard. “If he suspected anything he 
might not want to come.” 

“The mystery deepens!” sighed Mr. Cade. 
“But tell him that by all means. It’s totally and 
literally true. Just see that he comes a-run- 
ning! ’ ’ 

Lakeville was in gala attire. Cherry-and-black 
pennants and bunting adorned the store windows, 
and beyond the casement of the town’s principal 
haberdasher the appropriate colors were massed 
in a display of neckties and mufflers. Here and 
there the rival hues of gray-and-gold were shown, 



BEFORE THE BATTLE 273 

but it was not until the arrival of the Alton 
rooters that Lakeville became noticeably leavened 
with the brighter tints. Leonard encountered 
Billy Wells and Sam Butler just outside the 
hotel, but neither of them had seen Gordon Ren- 
neker lately, and Leonard went on up the busy 
street on his quest. He discovered Slim and three 
others admiring the contents of a bake shop win¬ 
dow and bore Slim away with him. 

“We’ve got to find Renneker,” he announced 
anxiously. 

“I don’t see why,” objected Slim. “I’m going 
to be just as happy, General, if I never set eyes 
on him again.” 

“Dry up and come on. Mr. Cade wants him 
right off.” 

“Mr. Cade has strange fancies,” murmured 
Slim, but he accelerated his steps. “Been over 
to the school grounds?” 

“No, I haven’t had time. Isn’t that—no, it 
isn’t. It did look like him, back-to.” 

“It looks like him front-to,” replied Slim, 
“except that this guy is about forty-five and has 
different features and has lost some of his hair 
and wears glasses—” 

“Oh, for the love of mud, shut up, Slim! And 
do look around, can’t you? I tell you this is 
important.” 

“I do wish I could feel it so,” said Slim exas- 






274 


RIGHT GUARD GRANT 


peratingly, “but I just can’t get up any enthu¬ 
siasm for the chase. Besides, it’s getting peril¬ 
ously close to chow time, and we’re going in the 
wrong direction and—” 

“There he is!” Leonard left Slim abruptly 
and darted across the street, narrowly escaping 
the ignominy of being run down by a rattling 
flivver adorned with cherry-and-black pennants. 
Gordon Renneker had just emerged from a door¬ 
way above which hung a black-and-gold sign 
announcing “Olympic Lunch Room—Good Eats,” 
and still held in one hand the larger part of a 
cheese sandwich. 

“Say, what the—” Renneker stared in amaze¬ 
ment from Leonard to the sandwich now lying in 
unappetizing fragments on the sidewalk. 

“Awfully sorry,” panted Leonard, “but you’re 
wanted at the hotel right away. Room 17.” 

“I’m wanted? What for?” Leonard saw sus¬ 
picion creeping into Renneker’s eyes. 

“Mr. Cade and Mr. Fadden,” he answered 
quickly and glibly. “They told me to tell you 
they wanted to see you about the game right 
away. ’ ’ 

“Flattering,” said Renneker. “Oh, all right. 
Wait till I get another sandwich—” 

“You mustn’t,” declared Leonard. “It’s al¬ 
most lunch time, and they’re waiting for you, and 
they’ll be mad if you don’t come quick!” He 




BEFORE THE BATTLE 


275 


pulled Renneker away from the lunch room door¬ 
way and guided him rapidly toward the hotel. 
From across the street a perplexed and insulted 
Slim watched them disappear. 

“Abandoned!” he muttered. “Adrift in a 
strange and cruel city! Heaven help me!” 



CHAPTER XXIII 


“fifty-fifty !” 

Leonard sat on the bench on the Alton side of the 
field and watched the kickers at work. There had 
been a good ten minutes of signal drill for both 
squads and now only the punters and drop- 
kickers remained on the gridiron. The game was 
about to start. Across the field the Kenly Hall 
sections were cheering loudly each member of 
their team in turn. The officials were talking 
earnestly on the side-line. Something white flut¬ 
tered across Leonard’s shoulder from the stand 
above and behind him and settled at his feet. He 
stooped and picked it up. It proved to be the 
two middle pages of the official program. He 
looked around to see if any one would claim it. 
But no one did and he settled back and regarded 
the thing. On each page, where they had faced 
each other before they had torn loose, were the 
line-ups of the teams, Alton to the left, Kenly 
Hall to the right, each boxed in by advertisements 
of local enterprises: “White Swan Laundry— 
Special Rates to Academy Men—You Can’t Go 
Wrong, Fellows!” “Bell and Falk, Photog¬ 
raphers to All Classes Since 1912.” “Lakeville 

276 


“FIFTY-FIFTY!” 277 

Pressing Club Best and Quickest Service in the 
City—Leonard’s attention wandered to the 
column of names in the center of the page. 

Alton,” he read. u Staples, left end; Butler, 
left tackle; Stimson, left guard; Newton, center; 
Grant, right guard; Wells, right tackle; Emerson, 
Capt., right end; Appel, quarterback; Menge, left 
halfback; Reilly, right halfback; Greenwood, full¬ 
back.” 

His gaze crossed to the opposite list: ‘ 4 Hanley, 
left end; Pope, left tackle; Tinkner, left guard; 
Henderson, center—” Interest waned, and he 
returned to the first row of names; especially to 
the fifth from the top. This was the first time 
Leonard had ever seen his name in a regular pro¬ 
gram, to say nothing of one with a colored cover 
and costing fifteen cents, and he was pardonably 
thrilled. It was, he reflected, something to have 
your name down in the line-up, even if you didn’t 
play! 

And Leonard wasn’t going to play; at least, not 
much. He felt pretty confident of getting into the 
game long enough to secure his letter, and, if 
luck was with him, he might even play for five 
minutes or ten, supposing Renneker or Stimson 
failed to last. But, in spite of the official pro¬ 
gram, Renneker was right guard to-day and not 
Grant. 

Leonard didn’t know what had taken place in 




278 


RIGHT GUARD GRANT 


Room 17 just before luncheon, what arguments 
Mr. Cade had used, but he did know that Renneker 
had capitulated. He hadn’t spoken to Renneker 
since, for they had sat at different tables at 
luncheon and afterwards all had been hurry and 
bustle, with some of the fellows riding to the 
field in jitneys and others walking. Leonard had 
walked, with Slim and Perry Stimson and Red 
Reilly. The conversation had been mostly about 
Renneker, for that youth had appeared a few 
moments before in a football costume of borrowed 
togs and Manager Tenney had spread the joyous 
news that the big fellow was to play. Stimson 
and Reilly did most of the speculating, for Slim, 
although clearly puzzled, knew so much that he 
was afraid to discuss the matter lest he say too 
much, and Leonard kept discreetly silent and was 
supposed by the others to be too disappointed to 
find words. Slim evidently suspected Leonard of 
being in the know, but there was no chance to 
charge him with it. Stimson and Reilly were 
much pleased by the reinstatement of Renneker, 
although they charitably strove to disguise the 
fact out of sympathy for Leonard. 

Only once had Leonard come face to face with 
Gordon Renneker, and then it was in the crowded 
lobby of the hotel. Leonard’s look of mingled 
defiance and apology had been answered by an 
eloquent shrug of Renneker’s broad shoulders 


“FIFTY-FIFTY!” 


279 


and a hopeless shake of the head. But the big 
fellow wasn’t really angry, and Leonard was glad 
of that. Leonard had had several qualms of con¬ 
science since that visit to Room 17, and it had 
required much argument to convince himself that 
he had not, after all, violated a confidence. 

Across the sunlit field the Kenly Hall band of 
seven pieces broke into sound again, and a drum 
boomed loudly and a cornet blared and the cheer¬ 
ing section was off on a ribald song that ended 
with: 

“And the foe turned Gray when it came to pass 
What looked like Gold was only brass!” 

The gridiron emptied. From the further side¬ 
line a man in a white sweater advanced with a 
khaki-clad youth whose stockings were ringed 
with cherry-red and black. Captain Emerson 
walked out and met them. The rival leaders 
shook hands. A silver coin caught the sunlight 
as it spun aloft and dropped to the turf. Cap¬ 
tain Growe, of Kenly, pointed toward the west 
goal and the little group broke up. A minute 
later the teams were in place and the cheering 
was stilled. The referee’s voice floated across on 
the northerly breeze: 

“Are you ready, Captain Emerson? . . . Ready, 
Captain Growe?” 



280 


RIGHT GUARD GRANT 


A whistle piped and Kenly kicked off at two 
minutes past two. 

Twenty-five minutes and some seconds later, 
when the first period ended, several facts had be¬ 
come apparent to Leonard, watching unblinkingly 
from the bench. One was that Alton and Kenly 
were about as evenly matched in power and skill 
as any two teams could be. Another was that, 
whichever won, the final score was going to be 
very small. And the third was that Gordon Ren- 
neker was playing the kind of football to-day that 
had won him a place on the All-Scholastic Team! 

With the wind, scarcely more than a strong 
breeze, behind her in that first quarter, Kenly 
played a kicking game. But with the rival ends 
as closely matched as they were to-day her punts 
won her little advantage. Cricket Menge and Bee 
Appel always ran them back for fair distances 
before they were thrown, and Joe Greenwood, re¬ 
turning the punts, got almost equal ground. Each 
team tried out the opposing line systematically 
without discovering any especially weak places. 
Each team found that running the ends was no 
certain way to gain. The ball changed hands 
again and again, hovering over the middle of the 
field. Twice Alton made her first down and twice 
Kenly did the same. Alton was penalized once 
for holding and Kenly was set back twice for off¬ 
side. Each team made two attempts at forward- 


“FIFTY-FIFTY!” 


281 


passing and each failed to gain a foot by that 
method. When the quarter ended honors were 
even. 

The second period started out to be a duplicate 
of the first. There was a heart-thrilling moment 
when Dill, of Kenly, made the first real run of 
the day by leaking past Captain Emerson and 
eluding Reilly and placing the pigskin eleven 
yards nearer the Alton goal. Yet, to counter that, 
the Kenly attack was thrice spilled before it got 
well started and the Cherry-and-Black was forced 
to punt again. Menge was hurt in a tackle and 
Kendall took his place. Alton braced near her 
thirty-one yards and carried the ball across the 
center line, concentrating on the left of the 
enemy’s line and alternating with Kendall and 
Greenwood. But just inside Kenly territory the 
advance petered out and a long forward to Slim 
Staples grounded and Kendall punted over the 
goal-line. 

A few minutes later Alton again got the pigskin 
on her forty-seven and began a punting game. 
With the wind behind him, Kendall was good for 
something more than five yards better than the 
Kenly punter, and after four exchanges the wis¬ 
dom of the switch was evident, for Alton found 
herself in possession of the ball on Kenly’s thirty- 
eight yards, following a four yard run-back by 
Appel. An attack on left tackle netted a scant 



282 RIGHT GUARD GRANT 

two yards, and on second down Kendall once 
more went back to kicking position. The play, 
however, proved a short heave over the line that 
Reilly couldn’t reach. From the same formation 
Kendall tried to get around the left on a wide 
run but was forced out for no gain. With the 
ball too far over on the side of the field for an 
attempt at a goal, Greenwood took Kendall’s 
place and Kenly covered her backfield for a punt. 
But Appel was crafty, the enemy had scattered 
her secondary defense and the unexpected hap¬ 
pened. The ball went to Reilly, and Red dashed 
straight ahead through a comfortably wide hole 
opened for him by Renneker and Wells and put 
the pigskin down on the twenty-seven! 

Pandemonium reigned on the south stands. 
Alton hoarsely demanded a touchdown and Gray- 
and-Gold pennants waved and fluttered. On the 
bench below, Leonard clenched his hands on his 
knees and watched with straining gaze. There 
was time out for Kenly and a fresh player went 
in at right half. Then Alton lined up again and 
Appel’s shrill voice called the signal. 

It was Kendall back once more, but Greenwood 
got the ball and dug through for something less 
than two yards. On the same play he got one 
more, placing the pigskin just over Kenly’s 
twenty-five-yard line. Then a play designed for 
just such a situation, a play that had been prac- 



On the same play 


he got one more 





















“FIFTY-FIFTY!” 


283 


ticed until it went as smoothly as a lot of oiled 
cogs, w T as called for. Kendall was still eight 
yards back, Appel knelt before him to take the 
ball from Newton and Kenly was on her toes to 
break through. And then something happened. 
One of the cogs slipped, perhaps. At all events, 
the ball never arose from Kendall’s toe, and when 
the whistle blew the Alton quarterback was found 
at the bottom of the pile with the pigskin desper¬ 
ately clutched in his arms. The perfect play had 
gone agley, and instead of a deceptive end run by 
quarter, with fullback swinging at empty air, it 
was fourth down for a six yard loss! 

And then, while the Alton stands were blankly 
confronting the sudden change in affairs, while 
Leonard was heaving a sigh that had seemed to 
come from the very cleats of his shoes, Appel 
was piping his signal again, undismayed, as it 
seemed by the misfortune. Now it was Captain 
Emerson back, with Kenly somehow suspecting 
a forward-pass instead of the threatened drop- 
kick. Well, a drop-kick from somewhere around 
the thirty-seven yards, even with a breeze behind 
the kicker, did look fishy. And yet that is just 
what followed. If Jim Newton had been at fault 
before—and he may not have been, for all I know 
—he was perfect now. The ball went back breast- 
high, was dropped leisurely and sped off and up 
and over! And Alton had scored at last and some 


284 


RIGHT GUARD GRANT 


four hundred wearers of the Gray-and-Gold be¬ 
came hysterically joyful! 

The half ended almost directly after that, with 
the score-board bearing a single numeral still, 
a “3” following the word i ‘Alton.” 

Leonard went back to the dressing room with 
the others and sat around and listened and talked 
and was very excited and jubilant. Slim had a 
beautiful swelled lip and couldn’t say much be¬ 
cause he had to laugh every time he heard him¬ 
self speak. Renneker waved a hand across the 
room at Leonard, but didn’t come over. He had 
a nice broad ribbon of plaster under his right eye. 
Plaster, indeed, seemed quite a popular ornament. 
Mr. Cade talked for a minute while Tod Tenney 
stood at the door watching the hands on his 
watch. Leonard didn’t hear what he said very 
well, but he cheered as loudly as any at the end. 
Then they piled out and started back. 

Going along the bench, Leonard heard his name 
called and looked up the slanting stand to where 
a youth with a Gray-and-Gold flag draping his 
shoulders waved wildly. It was Johnny McGrath, 
Johnny very hoarse from much shouting, who was 
greeting him. Leonard grinned and waved back 
to him. Then, suddenly, the battle was on again. 
Kenly took the ball on the kick-off and ran it back 
to her twenty-eight before Billy Wells placed the 
runner on his head. Kenly smashed at the Alton 


“FIFTY-FIFTY!” 


285 


right, stopped and formed again. Once more the 
teams crashed together. Kenly had made a yard. 
The whistle blew. Some one was still down. 
“Greenwood!” exclaimed Leonard's left-hand 
neighbor. Then: “No, Renneker, by gum!” 
Jake, the trainer, was bending over the injured 
player. A minute passed. Jake signaled to the 
bench. Mr. Cade jumped up and looked down the 
line until his eye met Leonard's. His head went 
back and Leonard disentangled himself from his 
blanket and obeyed the motion. On the field, 
Gordon Renneker, his head wobbling from side 
to side, was coming off between Jake and Rus 
Emerson. 

“All right, Grant,” said the coach. “You know 
what to do without my telling you. Go to it!” 

There were cheers from the stand behind him 
as he sped on, cheers for Renneker and for Grant, 
short, snappy cheers that made a fellow tingle. 
Leonard eyed Renneker anxiously as he drew near 
the little group. The big fellow seemed to be just 
about all in, he thought. He didn't like the way his 
head lolled over on his shoulder, or those closed 
eyes of his. He hoped that— Then he stared. 
Renneker's eyes had opened as Leonard had come 
abreast, and then one of them had closed again in 
a most amazing wink! Leonard asked himself 
if he had imagined it. He turned his head to 
look back. Some one had taken Emerson's place, 


286 


RIGHT GUARD GRANT 


but Renneker’s bead still lolled and wobbled. He 
must have imagined that wink, and* yet— No, by 
jiminy, he hadn’t! He understood all at once. 
Renneker was faking! He had pretended an 
injury so that Leonard might have his place! 

4 ‘Hey! Report to the referee, General!” 

Appel’s voice brought him out of his amazed 
thoughts. He looked for the white sweater, found 
it and slipped into the line. A whistle blew again 
and—well, after that he was very busy. The 
game went on, hard, gruelling. Alton advanced 
and retreated, Kenly won ground and lost it. 
The ball hurtled through the air, feet pounded the 
turf, bodies rasped together, tired lungs fought 
for breath and aching legs for strength. The 
third period came to an end, the score unchanged. 

Leonard was playing better than he had ever 
played, better than he had thought himself capable 
of playing. His victories were not easily won, 
for his opponent was a big, hard-fighting fellow, 
but won they were. The right side of the Alton 
line was still holding firmly, and it continued to 
hold right up to those last few minutes of the 
game when the Cherry-and-Black, desperate, re¬ 
inforced with fresh players, ground her way in¬ 
exorably to the twenty-yard-line and, with Kenly 
throats imploring a touchdown, thrice threw her 
attack at the enemy line and was thrice repulsed 
almost under the shadow of the Alton goal. 


‘ ‘ FIFTY-FIFTY ! 9 9 


287 


The end was close then, the time-keeper had his 
eyes on his watch more often than on the game 
and all hope of a touchdown by rushing tactics 
was abandoned by the home team. Either a pass 
over the line or a field-goal must serve. Thus far 
Kenly’s forward-passes had almost invariably 
failed, and this fact doubtless brought the deci¬ 
sion to try for a tied score rather than a victory. 
At all events, Kenly placed her drop-kicker back, 
arranged her defenses and set the stage for the 
final act. The kicker was on the twenty-seven 
yards, no great distance now that the breeze had 
died away. The signal came, the ball shot back, 
the lines met. 

Then it was that Leonard had his great moment. 
He went through, the first of his line to start when 
the ball was passed, the only one to penetrate that 
desperate wall in front of the kicker. Quite alone 
he charged, almost in the path of the ball. An 
enemy was met and evaded with a quick swing to 
the left. Hands clutched him, but too late. He 
was off his feet now, arms upstretched, leaping 
high in the air. Something swam toward him 
against the sunset light, brown and big, turning 
lazily in its flight. An arm swept into its path. 
Leonard was down in a writhing mass, had found 
his feet, was tossed aside. The battle was up 
the field now, back near the thirty-five-yard line. 
Leonard scrambled breathlessly up and staggered 


288 


RIGHT GUARD GRANT 


in the wake of the swarming players. A whistle 
blew and a voice, the referee’s, was shouting: 

“Alton’s ball! First down!” 

They were back in the hotel, the cheering and 
the tumult left behind for the while. The dress¬ 
ing room was crowded, full of confusion and ex¬ 
citement. Every one was talking, laughing, shout¬ 
ing at once. A wonderful sense of complete hap¬ 
piness held Leonard as he tugged at his laces. 
Just then it seemed as though nothing could ever 
possibly happen that would matter one bit. They 
had beaten Kenly Hall! And he had helped! 
Fellows were bumping into him, fairly walking 
over him, but he didn’t mind. He didn’t mind 
even when some one placed a big hand at the back 
of his head and bore down until it hurt. He 
looked up when he could, though. It was Gordon 
Renneker. Leonard sought for words, beautiful, 
big, round, insulting words, but the best he could 
do was only: 

“You—you blamed old faker!” 

Renneker rumpled Leonard’s damp hair rudely, 
grinning down. 

“Fifty-fifty,” he said. 


THE END 




























































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